On the Edge of Wakefulness - Part Two: Princess of Peace
by Cabbie Esq
Summary: The story of Edge continues. An AU story that takes seriously Todd's claims of abuse at Peter Manning's hands. Graphic, adult themes, drug use. Thank you so much for reading. :)
1. Chapter 1

**On the Edge of Wakefulness**

**Part 2 - Princess of Peace**

**Chapter 1**

Todd Manning heard the rolling wheels on carts down the hallway of Llanview's psychiatric ward, the howls of residents, doors opening and closing, and the calming voices of caretakers. He heard them like a grand symphony, the ding of the elevator the culminating bang of cymbals. A nurse spoke to him and he blinked through stringy hair, the world disappearing for the smallest instants of time. Licked dry lips. He could hear her but couldn't make out the specific words. Knew he was staring, knew he was on his bed, knew he wasn't moving an inch because the mantra in his head was an operatic accompaniment to the symphony. Because the story had taken shape at the foot of his bed and there was now a shadowy man with his mouth open and an aria falling out in cutting notes...

_Phillip Manning killed Michelle Chant._

He wished the man would go away but no amount of wishing would cut off the singer. He needed money maybe, Todd needed to throw coins at his feet maybe. _Phillip Manning killed Michelle Chaaaant! _He remembered Phillip, those cold gray eyes. There were things about him that he did not remember. Knew he'd blocked out much of their dealings… like so many other things. Stone cold murder at the cliffs of the New River. He reached his hand out like he could catch her. All he got for his efforts was more singing.

_Phillip Manning killed Michelle Chaaaaaant! There was nothing you could dooooo, nothing, nothing, nothing! _

Words pressed through finally. _We're going to bathe you, Mr. Manning, can you move? _Knew time had clicked by. Knew it had been a day maybe or two or three even of what Tim called catatonia. The doctor didn't understand. Sat with Todd for hours trying to break through. He wasn't catatonic; he was thinking. Watching the singer.

Two orderlies were taking off his pajama pants and tee-shirt and he watched it happen without any reaction because his body had separated from his mind. The shadowy man laughed at his nakedness and Todd tried to cover himself. At least he thought he did. Probably not. The cold air then seemed to have cut off the song, disappearing the singer. Todd craned his neck, looking for him. Finding nothing. He groaned when strong arms got beneath him and he was moving through the room and being settled in a dry tub, a shower head being aimed at him… his naked body vulnerable and exposed. He couldn't form any words, knowing he was making noise like an animal. He got that he'd wet the bed, or maybe even shit the bed, because he was so paralyzed following the little chat with Kevin and Jedediah.

"Come on, Todd, we know you're in there… can you talk to us? Want the water warmer? Come on, big guy… come on…use your words…"

The stillness had come on slowly. When he returned to his room, the truth that Phillip had killed Michelle hit him low and sharp and the shadowy man started singing at the foot of his bed. Kept Todd as his frozen audience.

The shower did wake him up a little and he said pretty clearly in the middle of things, "I'm cold… the water is cold…," and the unfamiliar orderly seemed happy with it, crowing, "Great! Good job! Hell yeah, I can heat up the water…" The water warmed at that and Todd realized he was shivering pretty hard. Then when the unfamiliar orderly moved apart his thighs and started to soap his dick and ass he kind of went on the defensive and couldn't see through the mad kicking and hitting and knew he was screaming until all the touching finally stopped and he was huffing and hugging the side of the tub. Mind not so separate from his body anymore. The hand-held shower head sat to the side, spraying all over the place. He heard a nurse tearing into the orderly, saying, "No, no, no! God! Touching has to be kept to a minimum! And don't ever wash the genitals directly!" She was now in his face, warm hands on his cheeks, a dimpled pretty face smiling at him, "Okay, okay… he didn't know, he's new… it's okay… you're safe, you're protected… you're okay."

He was soon in the bed again but he was much more present. Maybe the bath helped after all. He was sitting criss-cross applesauce. He was clean, the bed was clean. He remembered being in bed at home. At the Penthouse. Things weren't too bad before he found Georgie Phillips. He ran a newspaper, had a wife (sort of), and was raising his daughter. He picked at the vegetables on the plate. He once lived a semblance of normal. Such a very long time ago.

As he stared at the broccoli and rice, he remembered tripping over Georgie's body lying in her own blood, her ruined life on the floor of the Buchanan lodge. The sight of the blood had shaken him, letting loose the truth of her. He knew her. They both had been bled by Manning men and both grew up to take control of their lives in a raging, furious manner. He hadn't realized how similarly they'd been living. Georgie on the one side used surreptitious manipulation, taking, stealing, whatever she could, hoping for vindication. Ended up killing her. Todd's own weapon of choice, physical and sexual violence, had put him in jail, led him to screw up every relationship he ever cherished, and nearly killed him. Of course, he wasn't through yet. He had plenty of rage and pain left.

But in the end, what was it all for? Who would lose and who would win?

The pretty nurse returned. "How are you?"

"Been better," he murmured.

Her face brightened. "You're responsive! That's wonderful!"

"Is it?"

"Yes. Here are your meds. I'll wait."

He shook his head. "No."

"You need-"

"I said no." He pushed the plate and fell back on the bed. Broccoli and rice pilaf on the floor. Arms and legs splayed. Eyes on the ceiling. "Where is Doctor Graham? I need to see him." Todd suddenly felt like it had been many days that Tim had visited. He felt like he'd done something wrong. He shook his head. Doctor Graham. Saw the curls on his head. Felt lips under his fingertips back at the Penthouse. Imagined, remembered, pushing his fingers into an open wet mouth. There was something familiar yet not about that. Wasn't sure that happened. Rubbed his own mouth.

"Why don't you come out to the main room? Play a game with some of the patients. You like checkers?"

He glared at the nurse.

"Okay, no checkers."

Something was happening to him, he just didn't know what. Pain, he figured. Horror at the things that had happened to him. Not just to him, but to everyone associated with him. Too many to recount. Tim had said that he needed to feel this stuff. Why? What was the point? Those memories had all been forced out of him thanks to the drugs they were giving him, he was sure of it. Strange drugs. _Vee have vays of making you talk._ He laughed to himself, picturing Tim in a Nazi uniform, striking a baton at the palm of his hand. The image became not so funny when he started to compare Tim to Peter. Mind tricks, he kept reminding himself. But the blending wouldn't stop.

The nurse was there, offering the drugs again. "Mr. Manning, you really need to-"

"Go away. Where's the doctor?"

Before Georgie, things weren't bad. But ever since he stepped over her, things were bad. And now, Tim was drugging him, forcing the memories out. Tim put him in restraints several times, tying him to his bed. Tying him up. Todd cupped himself automatically. The doctor sometimes touched his head, his shoulder. What else did he touch?

"We called him for you, but he's not available."

"He's not available?"

"He'll come when he can."

Not available. Tim was punishing him by not coming when Todd needed him. What had he done to piss him off? Didn't matter. What had he done to piss Peter off but be himself? His mind then took a hard left and suddenly he raced along the obstacle course of his life, dodging love because it would always be the same. They would always end up giving him Peter's kind of love: vile and violent. Doctor Graham was now just another one.

_What do you want me to do? What do I have to do to get you to love me? _

All at once, an intense remembrance of being left behind swept through him. _Flip-flop._ He glanced around the room, searching for a blade, a rope. A way to end this nightmare. He had cut down on his arms, it should have worked. Maybe he should jump off the roof.

He took a breath to stop the ideation, Starr and Jedediah intruding on his end-of-life desires. His wanting to go home. Like the permanent home. He concentrated on Viki's asking him for more time. Felt her safe touches. Her words. Most importantly, her words: "Let me try to show you what love is. Let yourself feel it." But then all that safety turned sexual. Ugly confusion. Not so safe. He pictured Téa, but she was fuzzy, ill-defined. And suddenly he was not being safe with her and he was holding her down and... with a violent gasp, he woke up to a dark room. Checked for wetness. Relieved to see he hadn't come in his sleep.

The evening-shift nurse flitted in with that trusty cup of medication. He stared at the pills, different colors than the afternoon ones. Didn't know what they were. Are these the ones that forced him to remember, made him feel the pain? He swiped at the cup and she stepped back as he mumbled, "Don't want 'em." Sinking, he knew, deeper into the mire.

The same nurse came in about fifteen minutes later and said someone was calling for him. On the phone. Did he want the call transferred to his room?

"I don't want them – don't need them," he grumbled, spotting his open door. His file was tagged. Every fifteen someone was checking on him.

Later, Michael the familiar orderly came in and asked if he wanted any dinner. "No. Get out," Todd whispered. His skin felt alive, hot. All of him was super sensitive. The linens rubbed every part of him.

"Come on, Manning. This isn't good for you. You need to eat regular, you need to take your meds. Can't just sit here and-"

"DON'T...don't tell me what to do!" Todd flew off the bed and got in Michael's face, his body quivering with pent-up emotion. "Nobody forces me to do anything! I make the decisions! I do!" Gritted his teeth. "Everything is at my say."

_They're all out there. All the memories. All out. My insides are spread out on the floor in front of me. Like my blood was. Like Georgie's was. _

Michael was familiar with the control issues of these kinds of patients. Knew that he might have crossed that fine line of making choices appear forced. "I didn't mean it like that, man," he said, trying to calm the patient, pushing Todd back merely by taking steps toward him. "I'm just looking out for your best interest. That's all. It's cool."

Todd glared at him, turned back around and lay on the bed again. "Tim. Where is he?" He asked again and again, impatiently. Hot again. Pajama bottoms and boxers left him too free. He felt the cotton. He hunched over on his side. Back to Michael. Held himself. Keeping himself safe.

"Won't be here until later, if at all. At a meeting, I think," Michael said, not noticing Todd tense up at the words.

"_Dad? You coming home?" _

"_What are you doing calling me here at my office. I've got a meeting."_

"_I kind of—"_

"_Don't ever, ever call and ask me my schedule. Got it? I can guarantee you Phillip doesn't ask his 'daddy' when he'll be home. Get off the phone." _

"Get out," Todd growled, watching the windows. Seeing the reflection of Michael as he made his way out the door, noticing him shake his head at someone. Heard him comment, "Nothing's changed. Page the doc. I think we have real trouble." He hated when they talked about him like he was dead, like he was nothing. Deaf, blind, dumb.

Then he heard a nurse shoot back, "He said he didn't want to be disturbed - left specific instructions."

The voices faded. Trouble. He was trouble. Todd curled up, catapulted to an earlier time. One he didn't want to go to. But, it was too late. He was already there.

_Tell me what it is I have to do to get you to love me? _

_You know what that is._

* * *

><p>Tim Graham rubbed his face, tired from the seminar, and flipped through a stack of hard copies of messages that were connected to his pager. Supposed to be. He had just picked them up from the staff office and was headed to check on Todd. 11:00 p.m. Stopped in his tracks at seeing urgent notes on Todd. Damn, he thought. He hadn't gotten any pages about him all day and had assumed everything was good. Shit.<p>

He picked up his step and went to the elevator, rechecking his pager and not seeing any of Todd's reference numbers. The hospital had established a message system specifically for pagers, specific patients being assigned a number along with the traditional 911 or 411. He had asked that Todd be given priority, especially for this afternoon. The elevator finally hit Todd's floor and Tim hit the front desk.

"What's going on with Mr. Manning?" he asked sharply as he reviewed the file. Todd had been catatonic for three days. He'd shut down hard when he left the meeting with Kevin and Jedediah. Tim had been so hopeful but man, the revelation about Phillip Manning proved too much. There was a lot of history there and tying it to Michelle's death was difficult navigation for Todd.

So, apparently they tried a cool bath to get him to wake up and it worked. Granted, the responsiveness might have been triggered by a mistaken effort at cleanliness. A new orderly wasn't aware of the red flag regarding personal washing - no direct contact. Orderly now had a worker's compensation claim for his black eye.

"I got urgent messages, none of which got to my pager. What happened?"

The head nurse, always nervous around Dr. Graham, looked a bit flustered, "I don't know why the messages didn't get to you."

"Check on what went wrong with the system. I'll be in his room."

When he got there, the door was open with his file attached to it, an indication that Todd was being monitored on a fifteen-minute rotation. The room itself was lit by a small lamp in the corner, bathing the room in warm, low light. Todd was on the bed, on his side, with his back to his door. He'd gotten dressed this evening, getting jeans on and a tee-shirt, and his usual flannel shirt. He wore a heavy black cotton jacket with pockets. Bare feet today. Socks on the floor, next to the bed. Tim thought he was sleeping until he rapped the door lightly at which Todd visibly reacted to the sound, as if frightened. He partially lifted his head from the pillow then settled again. Tim moved into the room, closing the door. The room now became quiet. All the sounds of the hospital gone.

"Todd? It's me, Tim."

He remained quiet.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get here earlier. Something went wrong with our message system." Todd did not turn around, only tightened his body a bit, curling up further. "The nurse told me you've had a rough day," Tim pressed. "You haven't taken any of your medications. No food. I'm glad you're out of your catatonic state though. Really glad."

"I know the rules. I know what I'm supposed to do."

Tim furrowed his brows, not catching Todd's meaning. "And what are those rules?"

"To not move. To not breathe. To not talk. I know what they are. You don't have to tell me."

"Those aren't my rules, not hospital rules. Whose rules are you talking about?"

"'Course they're your rules. You punished me today. I get it."

Tim walked over to the desk and pulled the chair away from it, turning it around so he could better see Todd. He was now facing his patient. His eyes were open and he had his hands more or less in between his legs. Protective. Knees up. He looked child-like. Not uncommon for Todd - he sometimes regressed into a vulnerable state of mind reflecting his pre-pubescent years. The years he was being abused, according to his own narrative. The doctor sat down, crossing his legs. "What punishment did I give you?"

"You didn't come to me," Todd murmured.

Strange wording for him. Very personal. Too personal.

"I was at a conference today. Unfortunately, there was an error in our messaging system. I would have been here." Tim paused a moment. "What is it you think you did wrong?"

"I don't know, doc. You tell me. Maybe 'cause I lost it in front of Kevin and Jed. Maybe 'cause I wet the bed. Maybe because I got upset in the bath. Maybe because I didn't throw money at the singer. Maybe...maybe because I'm just me. Maybe you just hate me for me."

"First off, you didn't wet the bed. The bath was a method to shake you out of your passive state. Second, I don't hate you. I have great respect for you as a human being. As a person deserving of a good life. As a man who has the right to make his own decisions as to treatment, as to relationships, as to your ultimate existence."

All at once, his patient rolled onto his back and ran his hands down his thighs. Moved his hips as he did that. He then moved his hands into the pockets of the jeans, adjusting himself. He sighed softly and slowly rocked his head back against his pillow, his mouth slightly open. Tim knew immediately his patient was having an episode of some sort, this one marked by a sexual component. The pants did not do much to hide his partial erection. Tim would have to be very careful in how this went forward.

Todd sat up on the bed, swinging his feet around. His hands were next to him, flat on the mattress. He licked his upper lip from one side to the other, just a small show of tongue. His hair fell down the front of his face and he moved a few strands behind his ear. He sat for a few more moments. Thinking, resting. Todd stood up and studied the floor. He took his jacket off very slowly, letting it fall to his feet. The thing dropping from loose fingers. He took a step forward, closer to the doctor, unbuttoning his flannel shirt. Each undoing a skilled flip of his fingers. He kept his eyes down. The moves were delicate, seductive. Then, god, then he raised his light eyes directly to Tim's. Hazel hooded eyes full of intention and heat came at the doctor, Todd's lip lifting in the smallest way that gave him a combined expression of anger and abject desire. The sexual come-on was so powerful, so commanding, Tim closed his eyes a moment. Had to breathe to get his footing, had to remember to breathe. He did not expect this kind of seduction.

"Todd… what are you doing?"

He looked up again in time to see the flannel shirt drop to the floor, leaving Todd in his tee-shirt and those low-slung jeans. "You don't have to do this," the doctor added, with no effect. "I'm here, I'm here for you, as your doctor," he said. Tim wasn't sure if Todd was in the present or in the past. Either way, it only confirmed that his story was much deeper and far more extensive than he shared so far. This was a man who knew how to get another man in bed.

Jesus… the doctor's heart squeezed and he eyed his patient again.

Todd took another careful step toward the doctor, keeping his eyes firmly on Tim's own blues. Tim didn't move, staying in his chair. Found himself gripping the arms. He did not want to disrupt the delusion if it was one. He did not forget how fragile his patient was, how easy it might be to lose him. The doctor just couldn't read where this was all coming from. But for the intention in Todd's eyes, his features were relaxed, almost emotionless. No gritting of his teeth, not a grin at his lips…

"I know the rules," he said, his voice low and soft. He then whispered, "I know what I have to do."

"They're not my rules, kiddo. It's me, Tim. I'm not going to touch you, or hurt you in any way… I am your doctor. I'm here to help you."

Now directly in front of Tim, less than a foot away, Todd visibly swallowed, closed his eyes and took a breath. He slowly slipped his tee-shirt over his head, showing those abs, showing the cut of the oblique muscles… again, slowly he did it, purposefully seductive. He let the shirt fall to the floor. Now, he stood bare with his eyes cast downward, taking a bit of his lower lip in between his teeth. In this moment, Todd took on a cover of a shyer man, one preparing to be ravaged, like a virgin. Ready. Tim could just imagine the delicate shiver and the breathy gasp if he laid a hand on that tight chest.

But once more, the moment Todd set his gaze on the doctor, a whole other force came out. One distinctly not virginal. He then unbuttoned his jeans, showing brown male hair with a hint of red and the tip of an erect member. Healthy pale silken skin. He had planned this… no boxers, no briefs, beneath the denim. He lifted a shoulder as he slipped his hand into his jeans and gripped his flesh, the head rising above a fist. His muscles showed up at that, flexing at the motion, the lamp's light just enough to show… just enough.

"I can do so many things to you… and you… can do them to me."

The sight was at once heartbreaking and terrifying. My god, Tim thought, my god. He had no words. If the doctor did not have the intelligence, the compassion, the love of broken men and woman… and the ethics of Saint Theresa herself… he huffed. He about got to his knees to thank GOD he did not sexually respond to his patient, thanking GOD, his own flesh stayed put like a well-trained seal. JESUS.

"Todd," the doctor sighed. A sound of regret that he did not intend. He cleared his throat.

Appearing not to hear Tim, Todd then offered words that were the equal to a machete in the jungle of his mental illness, words that told a very old truth, that perhaps represented the heart of his illness. He spoke in a faint, grievous voice, once more pulling his heated gaze away from the doctor. He put both hands out, palms up, and said, "If you want me… I'm yours. I won't tell anybody what we do in this room."

Tim's heart broke into a million pieces. "Oh god," the doctor groaned, again so moved, his voice could not keep his emotion in check. "No, kiddo, no…"

Todd's eyes filled with tears, "You're tired of dealing with me. I can see that. So maybe I can make you want to see me more. So I'm here...anything you want. I can do it all. I know how to do it all."

Tim stood up and smiled gently at Todd, speaking in a soft voice full of love, "I made promises to you that I would never hurt you, never abuse you, and that I would never have a relationship with you other than as your doctor. As beautiful as you are… and you are so beautiful, I will never cross that line with you. I PROMISE YOU. But, something else…"

Todd looked at Tim, his head tilting a little. He was the child again. The virginal vulnerable man…. "Wh-what?"

"I'm your friend. I care about you and your recovery. I care about how you see yourself. I care about the fact that you still hurt so much. I'm sorry if my not being here today upset you. I care about you. I am not abandoning you. I will never abandon you."

Todd looked at him for a moment and then turned, falling to his knees next to the bed, crumpling like the broken man he was. He whimpered pitifully into the bedding, grabbing it up into his fists. After a moment, he quieted, and only sniffling could be heard.

"Todd, tell me what's going on. I don't think you actually want me to have sex with you."

In a muffled voice, Todd responded, "Well maybe I do… maybe I need to know what we're all about here. Maybe I need the truth to come out. No more lies… no more… I'm not giving you anything and so you left."

"I'm not here to get anything from you. I'm here to help you so you can go on with your life. So you can be with your family again, your business, your life."

"Family? They're all gone! Don't you see that?! Viki, Téa… Blair refuses to bring Starr… Jedediah would rather me be actually dead…. I'm alone… all alone…"

"They didn't leave you. Viki called to talk to you… but you didn't want to. Téa left because she's respecting your privacy. She left you her number. Blair...well...Blair is Blair. What's going on, kiddo?"

Todd lifted his head from the bed and looked at Tim, "It always comes down to sex. You know Téa left cause I wouldn't have sex with her...Marty screwed me over big time cause I wouldn't be with her more than just the fuck, you know. Cindy… she was the first one and she thought I couldn't k-kiss…" He momentarily closed his eyes, taking a quick, short breath, pictures teasing him about the first time…. _first time… _He shook them away.

"Téa left for reasons more than sex," Tim said. "And I think you know that. Marty. I can't attest to what led up to your attack on her. Cindy. You've not mentioned her before."

"First one...first…" It teased him, pecked at him.

Tim wasn't sure what Todd was talking about. He also noticed that his patient wasn't mentioning his experience with Michelle and he knew it was because that had been different. That had been about love, not abuse. Interesting he was lumping Téa into the abuse mix. "What other times do you think someone left over sex or your inability to give what they wanted?"

Todd was quiet a long while. Head on the bed, in his arms. He reached down and touched himself. No, he was cupping himself again. Protecting himself. "Peter," said in a soft voice. "He hated me because I… couldn't… give him what he wanted. And he let me know… for years… he let me know. Wouldn't touch me… wouldn't do it anymore to me."

Tim heard that. It implied a wanting on Todd's part of the continued sexual relationship his father had forced on him. Common among victims to make it out like it was a wanted thing. A continuing theme for Todd he'd already expressed. Of course, Tim wasn't convinced he'd been left alone for much time by Peter.

"So I practiced. I got real good, you know...real good."

Tim breathed in deeply at this information spilling out, images of a child trying desperately to please his abuser. "What did you...'practice', Todd?"

"Coming… jerking off. I got good."

"Did you tell Peter about it?"

"I don't know," he answered softly, swallowing down tears. Todd closed his eyes and rubbed his face against the sheets. He could hear his own voice, talking to Peter, asking, begging_. I know how to do it! Stop calling me that! Do you want me to show you? I can, I can. Let me. Show you._

"Oh, God...he didn't want me. He laughed at me and called me a faggot. He...he…"

"What did he do?"

"Peter made me feel like I HAD to learn and when I did, he fucking laughed at me! Called me those names...laughed at me…" Immediately, his mind traveled to the first time. First time. First time someone gets hurt. She laughed at his inexperience. Todd looked at the bedspread in his fists, shuddering, the memory of the first perching right above him, cawing, squawking, clicking its beak at him. That disgusting, hurried orgasm dripping down onto him from the perch. His voice was strained, stuttering out his thoughts; he spoke in jerky, short spurts.

"Th-the others...didn't want me… either… so I had to… make them understand. I had to prove I was a man! Prove to them that I was in control, that they had to listen to me! They stayed then. Oh, I made them stay."

"Who, Todd, who did you have to make understand?"

"All of them! Marty, Cindy, the others… but all that time, it was always there… the dreams, the thoughts...the memories." He started to cry again. "Tim, maybe that's what I am… maybe he's right… maybe… I'm… a faggot… so I should just go with it… and maybe… you want that, too… and like the others, maybe you'll stay if… if… I let you have me." He then looked directly at Tim and with the saddest of eyes, the most broken of expressions, he said, "Don't you want me, either? Am I not good enough for you to fuck?"

"Oh God," Tim said under his breath, looking away. A bit of a collapse of his professionalism. Because the kid, who wasn't so much a kid as an adult who'd gotten stuck by being tortured when young, had gotten under his skin. In the smallest part of his mind, Tim found he wished he could love this man to healthfulness. He wanted to grab the him up into his arms and assure him over and over how beautiful he was, how _fuckable_, if that's what he needed. The other part wanted to hide him away from all the screwed up things in this world, hide him like a caveman would hide a prize.

As Tim gazed back down at the man on the floor with his long hair falling about him, those provocative eyes looking up at him, his bare chest and a face too handsome for his own good, he did not see Todd Manning as the successful publishing magnate, the multi-millionaire who pulled himself up from the grimiest of floors to bring others to their knees, but rather saw a destroyed child begging his father to love him in the only way he knew. _Just a little. Just this once. I can do what you want. Aren't I good enough for you? _

And isn't that what all men wonder at one point or another, abused or not? Am I good enough?

Tim got down to Todd on the floor so he could talk to him at eye-level. "You are better than that. You aren't a fuck; you're a man. A MAN. A good one. A strong one. A father. A warrior. You were abused by someone very close to you. He was very sick to do the things he did. The effects of that have been profound. But you fought to prove yourself above what happened to you… and above the damage you inflicted to get back at him."

Todd looked down again, trying to listen, trying to hear. It was all so hard. He wanted to grab onto his doctor and never let go. He needed him. He knew the lines though. Knew it would be wildly inappropriate… and yet, there he was, feeling rejected. A spurned lover. Or once again, the dismissed child. It made no sense. A man? A warrior? Todd buried himself in the bedspread again, hiding.

"You don't understand," Todd said quietly. He reached for Tim's hand and pulled it to him, pressing the doctor's warm hand to his chest. Whispered, "It's okay. I was okay with what Peter did, so I'm okay with being here, with you."

Tim gently pulled his hand back, ignoring the sweat that immediately popped up under his arms at feeling his patient's heartbeat, at feeling the smooth skin and delicate spray of chest hair.

"It's not okay. I won't change our relationship. You are my patient."

"I can do this," he said quietly. "I have always been able to do this."

Tim rubbed his mouth, quiet. Of course he can do this. _This _was part of a much larger conversation that Todd was in no place to have yet. Too much healing left to do. "I know you can do what you say. It's really complicated. Sexuality, sexual orientation… it's complex thanks to your history."

"But I've never been able...to be...with Téa… I thought it was because I was afraid to hurt her, you know… but lately… I've not been so sure… maybe Peter was right about me. The things he called me."

"Um… well, I'm not surprised you're having these thoughts. In a sense, your break forced you to go back to where you started. Back to Todd as a fourteen-year old, maybe even younger than that. As you get better, as you talk more about the things that have happened to you… you start growing-up. You are going through a sexual development now. You're thinking more about your wife, about sex with her. This brings all this confusion and power playing right to the forefront, your original confusion, your mix-ups. Understand?"

He started to get weepy again and wiped at his eyes in frustration, head on the bedspread again. He was as vulnerable as Tim had ever seen him. He had to tighten his hands in fists to not touch him, to not hold him.

Tim sat back, sitting now on the floor, completely, "Todd, will you hold off on the judgments? Wait for this conversation? You were abused by a person who is the same sex. You had natural physical reactions. This is going to really confuse you. Rape isn't about sex and desire. It's about power and control. It was about violent intrusion. Your offer to me was about putting yourself in a familiar situation because you thought I left. Just like the others. All of them. It's not about being attracted to me or wanting me to be attracted to you. Do you get me? I'm not discounting anything.. what I'm asking is that you wait. Get through this… and we can have a full conversation about who you are."

"Please… talk to me a little on it? Tim?"

The doctor sighed heavily. Then decided he had no choice but to delve a little into the topic. He wondered though if this was a gateway to something else. That gave him the permission to continue. "Well, okay, tell me about your… experiences with attraction. Tell me the first time you found yourself attracted to a woman. Or whoever."

"Michelle. I loved her the minute I saw her. Her pretty freckles. The way she…" Todd started to get weepy again, but he controlled it. Rubbing his nose with his hand. Sniffling. "The way she played with her hair when she was studying."

"M-hm. A nice memory. What did you feel?"

"Feel? I wanted to be near her. I wanted to play with her hair."

"What did it feel like to see her?"

He was looking across the bed, distracted. Chin resting on his hands. "My heart would jump when she looked at me. I got all… hot. And one day she talked to me. When she did that…. I loved how she looked at me… the way she smiled at me. And then the way she would… touch me." He buried his face, his voice muffled. "I always had… a… hard-on around her. God… I was so embarrassed… felt sick that… that it would happen." More quiet, said thickly, "I didn't understand it. I thought that was something reserved for dear old dad." He looked at Tim with the deepest hurt in his eyes and said, "Tim, I really didn't understand… I really thought a hard-on was meant for… God…"

"I know. What happened then? Once the touching started?"

"She showed me that it was something… nice? Said it was for making… babies… out of love. _Love_. I was very confused. We started doing things together, secretly. I wanted to be with her all the time, I could barely sleep. Pictures of her in my head...would get me through the shit with Peter. The taunting, stupid games he would play. The beatings...the constant...shit."

"But no sexual abuse was happening… because you met her when you're thirteen."

The suggestion always froze Todd. He then shrugged, "When we finally had sex...oh my God… I never knew… and I never did again… not like that. Not like that." Todd buried his face again in the bedspread, taking a bit of it into his mouth. Scraping the cloth with his teeth, repeatedly. Bite, scrape, let go. Bite, scrape, let go. Tim touched his head to stop him.

"It's okay, kiddo, you're doing fine. Did you find yourself attracted in that same way to any boys? Men?"

Todd looked at his doctor with open soft eyes, watery with emotion. Considering, thinking. There was something there, Tim realized. Then he shrugged, his voice dropping. "Sam."

"Your lawyer? Your coach." Not a surprise. Of course not. Sam was a strong able man with a family, someone who was kind, comforting, a strong leader. He'd have been quite the role model for someone like Todd.

"I had this compulsion to...to…"

"Go ahead. Don't be afraid."

"A compulsion to… show myself to him."

Sam had not mentioned any such thing but now... "Show him what?"

"One time in the gym. In the locker room. I went into his office. Everyone was gone. He was at his desk. I walked around to him. I dropped my towel."

"What happened when you dropped your towel?"

A whispered, "I got onto his lap. I kissed him. I don't know… I don't remember exactly."

Bingo. The source of Sam Rappaport's ultimate guilt. His TRUE failure that was eating him alive. Not seeing what happened the night of the rape, or any other time before that, was not the only reason Sam Rappaport avoided Todd until he was well into his criminal entanglements. No, Sam probably never wanted to face his latent attraction to a male version of Lolita. He had been well-seduced by that naked child on his lap. On some level, the coach had probably fallen for the kid. A man like Sam would run like hell. It's why he never reported any of it. Made perfect sense. Christ.

"Did he abuse you, Todd? Did he react to your advances that day?"

He shrugged. "No… I don't think it got very far. Besides, I think if anyone was doing the abusing, it was me. I wanted to be his son."

"Of course you did. And you did what any son would do with his father. In Peter Manning's world, the way he taught you."

Todd closed his eyes, his whole body falling into itself. Heavy tears rolled down his face. Some minutes rolled by. Todd sniffled. Wiped his face hard. Indelicately. Still huddled against the bed.

"What was the next person you were attracted to?"

"I don't know...it's kind of a blur after that."

"Really? Why?"

_Squawk! Peck...peck._

"Cindy?"

Todd visibly shuddered.

The doctor said, "A while ago, you told me and Viki that you'd raped some other women besides Marty and Carol...Swift. How old were you...the first time you raped a girl?"

All at once, the black, cawing memory about the first time flew off its perch and pounded down on him. Its black wings flapped forcefully, blinding him to everything else around him. He felt the girl biting his lip and he bit himself in response to the memory. "Oh God…," he groaned. Blood salted his mouth and he dropped his head, spitting out a few drops of bloody saliva onto his lap.

"Come on," Tim urged, not sure if Todd was with him or not. "Talk about it, kiddo."

Todd crawled up onto the bed and curled up, closing his eyes. He whispered, "Don't...don't...I don't wanna have sex with you… let go of me… that hurts… I'm sorry I laughed at you..." Those weren't his words, the doctor realized. The dialogue continued. "You have no idea what's coming to you, you little bitch." His face changed to one of pain, and he groaned. "Oh...fuck, Tim, I'm dying here...I want to get out...out...out...I gotta get out…" He rolled over onto his back, closed his eyes and his hands came up to block someone, something. He pulled his knees up a little, his whole body rocking from side to side.

Tim hopped up, getting close to his patient, "Todd, come on, buddy, you're all right… tell me what you see…" Todd only groaned, a low feral sound coming from him. Tim moved Todd's hair out of his face, as he lay shaking, fighting the pictures that had leapt out of nothing and had completely taken over his reality. His face was wet with tears. Too easily still he slipped into the flashbacks. "You're in the hospital, come on back."

Todd then rolled away from Tim and fell off the bed, inching his way to the corner of the room, muttering, "You're not gonna turn me down now, are ya'...you're not gonna say no now… uh-uh… not to me, bitch… not to me… I ain't no faggot… uh-uh… you're gonna do what I want… oh God… oh God… help her… stop him…" Todd crawled into the corner, begging for an end to the constant battle, "Tim...make it stop...please make it stop!"

"I'm trying, kiddo… concentrate on where you are." Tim kneeled in front of him. "Look at me, kiddo, right at me."

Todd reached out, trying to find Tim but only able to see the basement walls, only the terrified girl beneath him. Her eyes are what got to him. Those sea-green eyes she had. He could hear her crying; that terrified, rippling cry, which had eventually stopped, leaving only the sound of Todd's strained breathing, his choked grunt when he came. She had been holding her breath.

Grabbing onto the shoulders of Tim, he shuddered, keeping his head down, "Oh God...I didn't want to rape her...I didn't, but I was so mad. She laughed at me… I made her pay… just like Peter. I proved I was a man. I wasn't a faggot. She begged me… she did… God… I was on top… I was, she had to listen to me...oh… she bit me… she bit my lip… to stop me… but I made her pay… I did…"

Tim didn't want to say it… but Todd just spilled another motivation behind his raping of young women who were vulnerable to him: to prove he wasn't gay. It broke Tim's heart utterly, completely. Again, whether he was gay or straight or anything in between mattered little right now. He needed to grow up first, he had go through those agonizing years in Peter Manning's household to get better first.

"Oh kiddo…" He just held Todd's head with his hand, Todd crying into his hands, restrained tears. He didn't want to cry.

"It wasn't sex...you know that. It was POWER; you had power over her. And why? Because you were powerless against Peter. He was a monster in size and in conduct. So you took power and control over people you knew would be powerless against you. Women. Women who were vulnerable to you."

"No...no… that makes me just as bad… worse 'cause I knew what it felt like. I knew… God… but I still did it… again and again. Four times… four. Tim…" Todd opened his eyes to Tim, tears dripping down; hot, stinging tears. He gripped the doctor's shoulders, tightened his hold for dear life, almost painfully.

"Yeah… four times. You had that much rage inside of you. It drove you. That and fear of being on the bottom again. And to let you know, Todd, you were not worse than Peter. Unlike your father, you have suffered tremendously for your errors, for your crimes. You continue to punish yourself...for those things. Repeatedly. You need to stop doing that, start learning from your past, start realizing the things you have learned. Accept who you are. Now. With all those imperfections you mentioned… what did you say at the penthouse? There is perfection within imperfection? You said that. Somewhere inside of you, you know this to be true. Understand? Huh, kiddo?"

All he could do was choke out these little sounds of held back cries, held back pain. Shaking and hot, it was too much. It hurt so much. He hurt.

"Why are you holding it back?" Tim asked. "You want to cry? Cry. You've done it before. Why now are you holding it in?"

Why? Because he couldn't let it go. Because this was the real thing, the real hurt. With capital letters. H-U-R-T. The killer, non-drugged, non-delusional, real, genuine fucking article. And it was ugly. Huge. A bottomless pit. A God-forsaken wasteland. He couldn't let go because once he did, he didn't think he'd ever stop crying. He would cry until he died. But maybe… maybe if he let himself feel the hurt, he'd forgive himself for what he'd done. For what Peter had done to make him this way. For the fucked-up rapist, sword-wielding warrior he'd turned into. Forgiveness from himself. Not Téa, not Blair, not the women he raped. Just himself. And he just wasn't ready to forgive the ugliness inside of him.

So it stayed there, in his throat.

"Let it go, Todd. Keeping it inside will only hurt more. There is an end to that pain. Yes, it hurts like hell, I know that. Let it go. It will end. You will get through this kind of mourning for your broken-ness. For this hurt."

Todd shook his head, whipping it back and forth, the short choking sounds continuing, the vice-like grip on Tim's shoulders intact.

"I'm here to catch you, Todd. I'm here with a tissue and shoulder. At least what's left of it." He smiled weakly at his struggling patient. "Aww kiddo, life is so shitty, isn't it?"

Todd didn't know what it was, what finally allowed him to let go. Perhaps it was those deep blue eyes of Doctor Graham looking at him, looking into his soul, or perhaps it was the fact that at one time, Dr. Graham picked him up off the floor all by himself and carried him like a baby into his bed. Or perhaps it was all those times he called him, _kiddo_, like he really cared. Or maybe it was the fact that when Todd offered himself to him, he smiled so sincerely, eyes crinkling at the corners, and so gently turned him down. Not touching him, not letting Todd get any closer to him. Rescuing him from himself. Once again. Maybe, ultimately, it was because Tim believed in him and remembered the things he said.

Whatever it was, all at once, with a gasp, Todd finally let it out. He wailed into the chest of Tim, deep, soulful wails. Long cries of utter despair at his own losses, at those he caused, at those he didn't. Tim held him tightly, feeling hot wet tears on his shirt. Spit and wet mucous all along with it. He felt the heaving of Todd's whole body as he cried as hard as he ever had. Crying finally for the poor little boy that dreamed of flying away in that little red airplane that hung from the fan in the small bedroom. Who imagined every night of zooming into the blue in the fighter jet that sat frozen on the bookshelf. He cried as deeply and as hard as he ever had… for a boy who died in that same room.

He cried for the fact that he mutilated himself over and over again all in the name of Peter Manning. Mutilated skin, mutilated relationships, egos, dignities. Mutilated his life.

He cried for Peter Manning himself. That sick bastard who was nothing but a rotten human being, who could only exhibit power over the powerless. Who died a pathetic death in a hospital room with a son who looked over him and only felt a pittance of sorrow. Really, practically nothing.

_Forgiveness._

"Yeah, kiddo. Yeah."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hell<strong>_.

Todd found himself walking on a path through Hell, the roar of the river, gentle and coursing next to him. A future at the end of its own path. He felt the spirit near him, comforting him as he stepped on the gravel road, the dirt gone. He was heading somewhere. A future maybe. Her whispers tickled his ear constantly, urging him on. Keep walking, she said, keep talking. Her flower petal hair brushed against his cheek and he smiled at the purple, yellow and pink wave. He looked down at the child whose hand he held in his. The child looked back up at him and said, "You are perfect."

_Almost_ perfect.

* * *

><p>A short while later, Todd lay on his side in a light sleep, interrupted with short bouts of crying every so often. Tim stayed on, sitting with him. Watching over him. He was so relieved that his patient was able to express this innermost pain, but he was also worried. For all the forwardness of the breakthrough, there was backflow: living with the sorrow.<p>

Tim said a silent prayer that Todd would stick with the process. That he would stick with Tim's plan for him. Peace would eventually come. Problem was the doctor didn't have a lot of faith.

And that's what he really wanted: faith.

**To be continued….**


	2. Chapter 2

**On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2**

**Chapter 2**

_**Hell.**_

_Wetness._

In the depth of sleep, he became aware of an oily wetness all around him. He soon realized he was in the penthouse shower, naked, sitting in a thick pool of blood. With a shudder and a gasp of shock, he pushed himself back onto the tiles and stared at the blood, knowing it was his. He grew aware that blood covered his body, running down his arms, his legs, and his chest. He tasted it in his mouth.

The spirit said, "The blood is your pain, your memories, your sadness - your devastation. Do not be afraid of it. Let it cover you and seep out so you can be free."

"'Do not be afraid'? LOOK AT ME!" Todd scrambled to get up, but slipped in the oozy liquid, smack onto his bottom. At that he started to cry, "What is this...what is this...don't you think I've had enough?! Why can't you let me sleep in peace? Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Listen to me, Angel...listen."

He tried to, he really did. Her voice was always so musical, always winding its way to him, bundling him with notes. How he tried to hang onto that symphony of love, to no avail. The momentary relief he got from hearing her would vanish as soon as she stopped talking. As soon as she stopped touching him with her song of hope and promise.

"I am not doing this to you," she crooned. "I don't control the pictures. You do."

"I don't want to feel any of this. WHY DO I HAVE TO FEEL IT?! Please make it go away!"

"You feeling the pain will lead to your forgiving yourself. And once you do, you will be able to leave Hell."

Todd rolled his head back against the wall, "No...no...I will never leave - Hell is eternal." With a sudden awareness, he stopped talking and searched the space he was in, then looked at the spirit whose gauzy image floated in front of him. "The boy...what happened to the boy?" he asked, worried.

"You've banished him."

"I didn't - the boy is probably dead. Slaughtered like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Like a lamb. A sweet lamb. Mary's lamb." Todd chortled bitterly. "Yeah. Mary's little lamb is on Peter's fucking dinner table. Got jam, oh almighty spirit?" His voice softened. Weakened.

The spirit flitted in front of him, her unnatural, woodsy beauty making Todd's heart ache.

_...and you are so beautiful..._

"Beautiful doesn't apply to me. I'm ugly, my past is ugly. I have no spirit. I'm empty." He started to sink into the pooling blood, now a pond of thick stickiness. It grew deeper by the second and the next thing he knew, he was thigh-deep in it and he was trying to crawl out, his nails scraping the dirt. "You have to help me," he rasped. "He's pulling me down."

"Feel the pain and move forward, or cover it up and sink back into the pit of Hell with Satan. He is becoming stronger. You have to fight him. You are more POWERFUL than you know."

Todd looked into the eyes of the spirit and softly said, "I'm sorry. I can't do it, I can't pull myself out of this." He finally stopped his fighting, stopped trying to crawl out of the hole, and felt himself slip into the sludge, knowing who would be awaiting him at the bottom. Knowing he was making his way back to Satan.

* * *

><p>Tim sat on the chair near Todd's bed, making notes in his chart, periodically looking at his patient who had burrowed deep under the covers. Eleven in the morning and he showed no interest in engaging with the day. Nearly a week had passed since he had released the tsunami of hurt that had been building up over the months and now he was indeed <em>feeling <em>the grief of his nightmarish childhood. The depression was intense and gripping.

But that night wasn't just about the release of sadness. More disconcerting to the doctor was Todd's revelation of a potent sexuality he did not share with the outside world. The attempted seduction confirmed more secrets which only meant a much more complex history of abuse. More memories might be coming…

_I know the rules. I know what I have to d__o. I can do so many things to you… and you… can do them to me. I have always been able to do this._

Those words. Those _agonizing _words. Once the doctor had been sure his patient was resting comfortably that night, he had driven the long twisting road to his rented cottage. He could not stop seeing the clash of opposites within Todd. A fragile physicality that broke through a strong body. A frightened but inflamed virgin that lurked beneath an aggressive whore. The skill with which he moved… and the childlike devastation at being rejected. And of course, the thread of guilt on his face as he recounted his sad supplication to Coach Sam Rappaport. Madness.

Tim had been so glad to see his friend's car in the driveway. Shane Lansing, the internist at Llanview General. A new lover… but already so comfortable they'd traded keys. He practically ran inside the house. He showered… got in bed... and made love to Shane. No, they didn't make love. Tim fucked him, fucked him hard and furiously. And when he was done, he wept for the awful night he'd had.

_A kind and gentle voice reached him. "What is it, Graham… what's wrong?"_

_He was able to reign it in… breath in the delicious male scent… grasp his lover's body tight into his… said in between kisses, "My heart is broken… for a boy. A child. Jesus, I'm in pieces."_

"_I don't know how you do what you do. It's why I stick to appendectomies."_

_Tim chuckled through the last of cleansing tears. His friend asked, "What happened, sweetheart?"_

"_A revelation my patient didn't even know he made." They were quiet. Tim had ethics. He couldn't share. He couldn't share even if his patient died. _

_But his friend said, "You have the right to consult another doctor, you know. I hold his secrets inviolable, too. Talk to me."_

_The bright sun broke through the slit in between the heavy drapes. Tim said in a soft voice as if the secret could be kept even more so. "He propositioned me. He undressed and said he wouldn't tell anyone what we would do. He was in a hypersexual state. He was either in the past or in a state of disassociation."_

"_Hmm."_

"_This is a man who has special restrictions on his file… orderlies cannot touch his genitals during baths because he loses connection and gets violent… so only water is used in the shower… a hand-held spray, liquid soap. He can barely handle safe kinds of touching. The man is celibate. Married a couple of years… but never consummated the marriage. And yet… he was offering me sex."_

"_Is he gay?"_

"_He was severely sexually abused by an adopted father. Beginning at age seven."_

"_Holy hell… but you didn't answer my question."_

"_No way to tell. It's a mess. He's a mess. His sexual orientation is completely lost in the profoundly confused messaging forced on him. It might take perhaps years to sort out what he really is. If it matters." Tim thought about it. "I have to work out a timeline. He has gaps, big thick amnesiac gaps." A long period of quiet followed. The two huddled beneath the covers._

"_Did he explain why he propositioned you?"_

"_He was worried I wouldn't come see him anymore - fear of abandonment. He offered himself as a payment of sorts." Tim paused a moment, his voice softening, almost sounding as if he were talking to himself. "He cannot be touched yet he got undressed for me. Said I could do whatever I wanted. Had I been a different man… a low one… Jesus… it scared me, terrified me, for HIM. The damage that could have come about from that-"_

_A strong passionate kiss interrupted Tim. "I adore you, Graham," the doctor said, "… he's lucky to have you." _

_Tim caressed his lover's face. "So tell me, consulting one, why would he do that?"_

_The fellow doctor sniffed and sat up, resting on the pillows. Black hair mussed. Crossed his well-defined arms. His handsome rugged face crinkled in deep thought. Tim grinned at his professional stance. _

"_Crazy control," the doctor decided. "That's what his celibacy is about. It's not that he doesn't want sex but rather that he's mad about having it on his own terms. Maybe the wife was too forward? Demanding? It's a complete reaction to being sexually assaulted when young." He turned and looked hard at Tim, "Don't forget, the seduction might have been a test. See if you took him up on it at all. Might have kicked you in the balls had you gone for his bluff."_

_Funny, Tim hadn't thought about that. Made sense. The consulting lover grew more thoughtful. "Could be, too, that he expected you to abuse him so he decided to take it into his own hands." He paused. "Literally? Did he...?"_

"_He did that, yes."_

_A gorgeous mischievous grin, turning a serious thing into a lighter thing. He scooted back into the covers. Shared dark medical-doctor humor. Whispered in Tim's ear, "Was he big?"_

_Tim laughed at the dark humor that only doctors could understand… "You bad boy. I adore YOU. And… well… if you're asking..." _

_The doctor laughed prettily heartily and lay his head on Tim's shoulder. "Control, darling. He has mad control over his body…final violent say over who gets to touch it."_

_Serious again. "Of course, no question… that's why he burns himself. Why he took out his own stitches-"_

"_Ouch."_

"_Understatement. All to prove he has final violent say-" He stopped. Shook his head. "Jesus. The orderly reported those exact words."_

"_What?"_

"_He wrote that the patient said… 'everything is at my say.' Not the first time he's said that. Yeah, of course. Goes without saying. So this… was more of the same."_

"_And there you go."_

"_He is the ever-vigilant gatekeeper of his body." More quiet… "He propositioned an older man once, a mentor of his, he told me. And he hinted that he once propositioned his father… showing that he could self-pleasure. Propositioning an abuser. Bet that wasn't the only time he did that. Why does an abused child proposition his abuser? Perhaps more than once?"_

_A few moments of sad silence. Grave reality in Shane's voice. "Same reason a person might lie still or stop fighting when getting raped. Related maybe to Stockholm syndrome… or… or to alleviate the pain of rape. To get it over with. Might have been a win/win… he becomes the keeper of his body, and the father comes fast and leaves him alone."_

"_Meaning... he might have become a participant in his own sexual abuse."_

_The doctor sighed…"Yeah, Graham… mad… control." One final question that never got answered. "Timothy… why this patient? Certainly you've seen this before? In your business?"_

"_I don't know… just got to me."_

Tim sucked on his pen as he contemplated everything that happened so far and eyed his patient. _Mad control._ The whore was a desperate grab at control of his own sexual abuse. And once again… that show was not developed between the ages of seven and nine. No way. That expression HAD to come later. And THAT meant far greater abuse than Todd had so far recalled. Or admitted. Heartbreaking. Frightening.

Yeah, in the attempted seduction, he revealed truths he did not even know of.

And now… poor kid was feeling the pain of all his shit. A necessary step in his recovery, sure, but damn it… Tim wished he could make the dark tour better. Unfortunately, the medication adjustment could take weeks to become effective. He made notes to make yet another change.

"Bad day?" The doctor asked.

Todd nodded, barely noticeable.

"Tell me what helps, kiddo. Do you notice a difference with the medication at all?"

Todd shook his head, again, nearly imperceptible.

"Maybe we can up the dosage. What about visitors? I think I saw some improvement with Viki, at least I thought so."

Todd didn't respond, only burying his face into his pillow and pulling the blankets tighter around him. Tim rubbed his chin, thinking. "I know it's hard to even garner up the energy to talk," he said. "I know that, but I want you to try, ok?"

Todd kept his eyes closed, opening them only for a moment at a time. Tim pushed. "Can you tell me what you're feeling - tell me what you're thinking about - right now?"

Barely opening his eyes, he looked at Tim, wanting to describe the sick feeling he felt in his stomach, in his chest. The weakness. But he couldn't. The words stuck in his throat. Getting caught up with pictures in his head. That poor boy. Small body. Never a match for Peter. Silky hair that was kept short. A memory danced in front of him, kicking up its heels.

"_He'll never pull your hair again! NEVER!" his mother had barked. _

_Still holding those sharp scissors, Bitsy bounced around to the front of the little stool on which Todd sat, dropping to her knees. He wasn't sure how old he was. He thought maybe six or seven. _

"_Do you understand me?" she asked in a too-loud voice. "Do you?" _

_He had nodded his head and smiled at her, a little blood on his lip. He had just had one milk tooth knocked out of his mouth by Peter and a small patch of hair yanked off his scalp. Arms hurt from the bruising. His mother stood up and went back to her manic shearing of his golden locks. _

"_I'm cutting it off! He'll never do this...never...never..." She had started crying when she was done and held him awkwardly to her. He could feel her kissing his head as she said how sorry she was, his eyes focusing on the hair on the floor. He glanced down at himself, seeing countless hairs covering him._

_Like Peter's smell and his violence._

Swallowing, Todd then opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Then he tried again, in the faintest of voices. "Hair. She cut it...so..." Todd grew quiet. _He'll never do this...never...never._ Bitsy had tried to help. He thought about his long hair, now. How he grew it long in defiance of Peter.

_Go ahead, pull it. Yank it out of my head. So I can kill you._

"Who cut whose hair?"

"Mama...my hair," he whispered. He kept his eyes closed because the light that managed to come into the room hurt his eyes and gave him a touch of a headache.

"Your mother cut your hair? Was that okay with you?" Tim leaned forward so he could better hear his patient talk.

"Short...so he couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?"

"G-grab it. So Peter couldn't grab it."

Tim sighed. "She cut it so he couldn't hurt you with it. That's something. She tried to protect you. She loved you, kiddo."

"I guess." Tears welled in his eyes and slipped out. "I hurt, Tim... inside... and... I ... can't move..."

"I know. Grief's a funny thing. Sometimes you have no energy; other times, you have too much. You don't know what to do with it."

"You lied to me..."

Tim looked at Todd with a furrowed brow, "I did? How did I lie to you?"

"You said...this would end."

"It will. I promise. What you can do in the meantime is visualization exercises...imagine that happy place. That beach or the park with your daughter. You also have to express yourself. Write in your journal, talk to me, to others. That's releasing the pain and then it will go away. Not completely, but enough for you to live healthier. Freer. You will get there."

Todd closed his eyes again. Sunk into the sheets. Bullshit, he thought, I am damned to suffer eternally because I'm in Hell and Hell is eternal.

Tim then said, "Todd, you've been living with your past as a viable, breathing thing. A monster under the bed, so to speak. Over time, it's grown bigger, it's become more of a burden to you. Each day, more and more, you've adjusted your thoughts, your emotions, your daily doings, all to accommodate the growing monster. Well, guess what? The monster's gotten too big to be hidden. By telling your secrets, you've pulled the monster out from under your bed. Now you just need to kick it out the door."

Todd looked at Tim, listening. Kicking the monster. Expressing the pain. He was seeing something different than before, this is true. _Mama tried to save me. Tried to protect me. Like with the plane. Offering a way out._

"Monsters...plural."

"There's more than one? Taking up all that space? Hardly any room for you, then." Tim smiled while Todd gave him a slight nod. "Well, that means there's even more kicking to do."

Todd was quiet a few long moments. Tim didn't push, just sat patiently. Todd let go of his tight hold on the blanket to scratch his cheek. He finally said, "Airplanes… hanging in that boy's room..."

_Round and round you go._

"What boy?" Tim asked. With that, tears trickled down Todd's cheeks. Trying to control the crying, he breathed and wiped at his eyes. Crying was good, actually. Better than not. The deeper depression had no crying.

After a bit, Todd sat up slowly. Looked over at the night table, sniffling, letting out hard breaths. He then picked up his journal and, with a tentative hand, gave it to Tim.

"You want me to read it?" he asked.

Todd nodded and Tim took the book. Todd then pulled his knees up, leaning his back against the headboard. Watching. Studying Tim's face as he read the latest entry to himself, eyes moving along the words.

_My room - that room - my mother bought me a red airplane. A toy. She hung it on the ceiling fan. Said I could watch it fly - would turn on the fan - pulling the string. Pull it. Yank on it. Too hard sometimes. She would say "Pretend you're in it!" The plane flies around in a circle. I picture myself inside of it. Like she said. Inside. Escaping. I would be so good. I could fly over mountain tops and into valleys. I could roll over and not fall out. I could land on water and not drown. I would be far away. He could not catch me. Nobody could stop me. Nobody would yank that fucking chain to stop the flying. Nobody would break me. It was red. I liked red. Liked the Red Baron. Killed the shit out of tons of Allied pilots. Shot down the GOOD guys. An enemy, but he WAS mean as fuck and he was smart. Don't shut him off. Don't pull on that string...don't let him just hang there to be shot down. I used to watch it when it just hung there. Would watch it by the light of a night light. While Dad...while Peter...yanked at me. The plane was always still when he did that. Stuck. Just fucking hanging there - helpless and doomed. Waiting to be shot down. Dad finally did that. Shot him down. Stood up and ripped the plane off that fan right in front of me. Broke it to pieces. By hitting me with it. I could feel it rupturing, splitting apart. The pieces landing around me. I remember later, picking up some bits of plastic left over and eating them. Chewing on that red plastic. Swallowing them - they cut my throat. She tried to save me. She loved me. She failed me._

When Tim was done, he had tears running down his own cheeks. He rubbed his face and sat quiet for a while, the two men holding each other's sorrowful gazes. The doctor then closed the book and handed it back to Todd, saying, "I'm sorry. I am so so sorry about that special plane and what it meant to you. It makes me sad and angry to read this. Your eating the plastic was your grasping at hope...your dreams of escaping. You hoped your mother would save you. Somebody. Anybody. They all failed you. Coaches, teachers, friends, other family. Everyone failed you."

Tim looked away and then looked back at his patient. "You can fly now, Todd. Nothing's stopping you. That plane...it'll always be a part of you. You're free. You're letting out this pain...you're letting yourself feel it. You can only go forward, but...it's up to you. You wanna fly? Or do you want to be stuck?"

"I don't know how to fly. I don't know where to go from here." Todd's voice was soft, defeated.

"You start to take back pieces of your life. When you're ready, let's get you together with Starr, with Blair. Continue to talk to Viki, Téa. Sam. Even Kevin and Jed. Start looking at your business again. Take small steps."

"I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"This pain. It's...destroying me."

"It feels that way, I know, but by releasing it, talking about it, expressing it, its power will be lessened. It's a matter of deflating the monsters. Making them smaller. Every time you cry, every time you write, every time you tell someone what's on your mind, you kill more of the monster. You fly further away from your pain. You're the Red Baron, Todd. Mean as fuck, but smart. Flying."

Todd put his head down on his knees. Thinking of the airplane, thinking how he wanted relief from the monster. Or monsters. Plural. He didn't quite get Tim's analogy. He felt the monsters were just as viable, just as alive as before.

_Make me dead. Let me step out of my body again. Please, for the love of all that's holy, let me not fucking FEEL anymore._

"Why don't you let Martin help you get dressed, huh? You've been lying around for days now. And...I haven't even bugged you about it."

Todd shrugged.

"It's okay - you need to feel this grief. But let's have you move a little. The water'll feel good."

Todd opened his eyes and looked toward the bathroom. So far away. Miles away. He might get lost on his way there. Lost in the loops of the carpet. He didn't say anything.

"Um...speaking of small steps to get back to your life, Téa called this morning. She'd like to see you. Is that alright?"

At first it seemed he hadn't heard. He looked up though, after some moments, with an expression of trepidation, confusion even. "Why? I only hurt her when I see her."

"Small steps. She's your wife. Start dealing with her. Tell her about that little boy. The one in your heart."

The patient and the doctor gazed at each other, trying to understand the incomprehensible, the unexplainable.

_Save me from Hell. Show me something good._

* * *

><p>Téa stood in the doorway to the recreation room and watched Todd, her insides in knots. He was sitting quietly on a sofa, his legs folded beneath him, just staring out the large windows, at the gloomy light. The sun was blocked by low clouds. Although his body language screamed of depression, his outward appearance spoke of a gentle attention to himself: his hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail and his emerging goatee was carefully trimmed. She wondered if he was responsible for that or not. He wore a pair of light-colored blue-jeans with a long-sleeved, forest green, knit sweater. He wasn't as covered up as he'd been. They kind of matched in their dress, she in jeans, too, with a black sweater infused with green threads. She'd have teased him at one time about it.<p>

He was however frighteningly still.

A leather-bound journal lay next to him with a pen neatly on top of it. Clearly, he hadn't touched it. There were a few other patients in the room, each one engaged in various projects and activities. The television was on and something in black and white was playing. When Téa looked closer, it was an old comedy from the fifties. Colorless fantasy.

Tim edged into a place next to Téa.

"He's in a deep depression," he noted softly. She turned to him, a face full of compassion and worry. "But see, he needs to be. He hasn't allowed this kind of intense heartache to come through and it's part of his underlying problems."

"Is it okay I'm here?" She didn't want to upset Todd anymore than he already was.

"I think so," Tim answered. "I know the other night was pretty harsh. I know he was a little rough with you."

"I should be honest…"

"I saw it all, Téa."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. I gave you your five minutes. He stopped the sexual touching just as I was about to step in. Overall, though, he did something pretty promising, I think."

"What?"

"He trusted you enough to engage physically with you. Téa, touching is very risky for him, as you know. He's terrified of it and yet… he tried with you. I want to think it was actually a forward step, rather than just more of the same. How did you feel?"

Téa watched Todd. How he hadn't moved an inch in the five minutes she'd been standing at the door. "I was afraid for him," she said. "He was so hurt. He was… desperate for something. And actually, I thought he stopped because he didn't get whatever it was he wanted from me. I felt… like I let him down in some way."

"Makes sense. But no… you were there in a shifting moment. You were fine. And damn brave." Tim smiled. "I think he knows that, too. It's why he did any of it. He was confident in your ability to handle him."

Téa considered the doctor's words. She didn't know what to think. Too much history, too many confusing incidents between them to judge why he did things, or why he didn't. "Do I just go up to him? I don't want to shock him."

"He knows you're coming. He's been waiting for you."

At hearing that, Téa felt a rush of longing for those few times where their life together had a chance of success. When they used to sit together and play a game, a silly board game. When they would laugh at private jokes and shoot pictures of each other with his camera. When they would sit across from each other at his desk at the Sun, consulting on the libel laws so he could get as close to the legal line without paying a cent for defamation of character. Too few such moments, but precious. Especially seeing him now. That life seemed a world away.

Nodding to Tim, she walked slowly toward Todd. When she got closer to him, she cleared her throat as a warning to him. He turned to her and the anguish there on his face was indeed captivating. Furrowed brows, lips full but drawn into a slight frown. He closed his eyes a moment longer than a blink. Then quickly glanced away. He adjusted himself on the couch, seemingly to make room for her.

_That boy, that broken, bloodied, murdered boy. He'll dirty Téa._

"Can I sit next you?" Téa asked.

He nodded, the slightest of motions. With the back of his hand he slowly grazed his mouth, then pulled back his hair, forgetting it was already in a ponytail. Made Téa think someone other than himself had groomed him, then.

"Is… uh…Tim around?" His voice was raspy, his words deliberate.

"Yeah," Téa said softly, sitting on the couch, searching for Tim on his behalf. "He was just with me at the door. Oh, there he is, over at that table in the back. Looks like he's working on something. You need him?"

"No." Todd didn't bother to turn around, acting like he had barely the energy to breathe. The two sat in an awkward silence a few minutes.

"I missed you this week," Téa offered. "I was hoping to spend some time with you. Tim said you weren't up to visitors."

Todd's eyes narrowed in perplexity and then he turned to study her, his eyes staying on hers only a second or two before dipping to her mouth. Moving to the necklace with the wedding ring. "I don't understand that," he mumbled. "I wasn't very nice to you… the last time. Uh...I hurt you… I think. It's kind of foggy. D-did...did..." He stopped and took a breath, staring at his hands. Palms up.

_We all killed that little boy. Each one of us took a shot at him._

"Go ahead… what is it? Did you what?" Téa unconsciously wrung her hands together in stress. She wasn't going to finish his sentence. She wanted him to talk but… god, it seemed like torture to him. She wished she could offer something more than just words. His raw agony was killing her. Cutting her worse than he'd ever cut himself. Beyond her control, she huffed, "Todd…"

"Did I hit you? I keep thinking I hit you… back at the penthouse." He had balled his hand into a fist.

"No! Of course not. You didn't hit me, you didn't hurt me. Nothing like that."

"I keep seeing it."

"I promise you. You didn't. Do you hear me? Can you tell me you understand you didn't hit me?"

A whispered _okay _was all she got.

The quiet continued with Téa alternating her view from Todd to other people to the walls. To Tim. Todd maintained his eyes on the windows. He then touched the notebook in between them, picking up the pen and playing with it. He put it down and it slid off the book onto the back of the couch. He made no effort to retrieve it. The stillness again. He hardly blinked.

"Todd?"

He didn't answer. His gaze did shift down to the carpet.

_I knew you would get lost. I saw you walk away from me and I knew. I don't want to feel this anymore. I want to NOT feel._

"Can I hold your hand?" she asked.

She bit her lip, anticipating either silence or plain rejection. Like before. How violent his rejection of her had been. Her pleas to connect… had seemed to repulse him. God… why was she even here? What made her think he'd even _want _to be touched by her? Unlike Tim and his ever present hopefulness, she believed their _physical engagement _at the Penthouse had been an aberration. No, it had not been forward movement in their relationship or anything else. He acted like an animal… not in a criminal way, but rather… a person outside of society's norms. He acted as if she herself was a stranger, something utterly unfamiliar to him. And at the end… he stopped, not because of any consciousness or morality or _forward movement_. No, he stopped because she did not affect him.

So yes, the idea of holding his hand seemed almost… preposterous. Ridiculous. But it was something they had a long time ago. Small moments in between the hellish ones. A grasp of their hands. To her surprise, he spread his fingers out. Eyes frozen on them. Again, palm up.

_Hands. That poor boy. What his hands had been taught to do. His hands. My hands. Touch me… show me something to hold onto._

Téa reached across the notebook, reached across the divide between them. She slowly placed her hand on top his. Warmish skin barely touching. His fingers instinctively closed on hers and he caught her eyes.

"I have nothing to give you," he whispered.

"I don't want anything from you. I want you to take from me, whatever you need. I left you once before. I'm not going to do it again."

"You don't have to say these things. You need to be away from me. I'm not any good. I'm dangerous. I'll hurt you. It's not that safe."

"You think you'll hurt me?"

"Yeah. I'm in a bad place right now… it's scary… monsters in the room. If I think they're near me, I'll kick 'em. I hate this room." Téa sighed with sadness. She didn't quite understand what he was referring to and she ached to learn. She glanced over at Tim who still looked immersed in something. She looked back at Todd, his eyes half-closing. Sleepy. Whispered, "I don't want to kick you."

"What room? What monsters?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I can say it."

"Todd, I'm not going to run. Take from me. I have so much to give – you can't hurt me."

"I'm tired." He remained in that silence again for more endless minutes. But then, he said slowly, "It's some kind of… blackness… a dark muddy room. And… the monster… isn't a monster. It's a dead boy."

He exhaled like he'd been holding it in for a long time. He probably had. Téa squeezed his hand and he looked at their intertwined fingers again.

Téa bit her lip, worried now. It took all her energy to not hug him, to not pull him into her. She hadn't noticed Tim looking over at them.

"Who's...the dead boy?" Téa asked, hesitantly. Her tone was gentle. Easy.

He didn't answer her right away, moving his hand a bit, testing her hold on him. It wasn't too strong. He could get out of her grip easily. After a few moments, he whispered, "He's blond, seven years old. He liked planes. Liked flying… would think about it all the time."

Téa firmed her hold on his hand. Without thinking, she leaned forward to hear him better because he spoke so softly and in doing so, she naturally reached her other hand and rested it on his shoulder. Shockingly, he tilted his head and rubbed against her hand there. Eyes closed.

"He was murdered," he whispered. "In another room, far, far, away. He's here with me. It's so gross – maggots and worms have bloated him. He's rotting. I don't like being with it – it suffocates me. But I can't just leave it either. I need to bury him." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "I wish he wasn't dead. It's so unfair..."

It started to dawn on Téa who the little boy was, an inkling of it. She squeezed his hand once more, tightening her grip. She fought tears coming to her. She didn't want to stop touching him to wipe her face.

He turned to her, and there on her face, he saw how beautiful she was… those dark eyes, that amazing empathy on her face. Lines in between her brows. Her gaze moved from his own eyes to his mouth to his chin… all over. Like she was trying to take in his whole being. He felt something like… realness. Like there was something to look at, at all. He licked tears that had reached his lips.

"It's okay," he said, "it's my problem. You didn't kill him."

_I don't know - maybe she did. We all did. Watched him bleed out and did nothing. Watched him rot away and did nothing._

"How did he die, _amor_?"

_Amor… love… amor… love…_

"Lots of ways. Beaten, stabbed, shot, cut. Mostly cut. There's always blood. It's very bloody. A real fuckin' mess. He was so innocent, Téa. He never did anything to hurt anybody."

To hear him say her name comforted her. Offered a pittance of relief for his sanity. He knew who he was talking to.

"I was so scared all the time. I knew that boy was dying...everyday. I tried to breathe for him. I tried to not think about his heart stopping, about the blood draining from him."

"You can't stop those things...you were so little, Todd," Téa said. "You were a baby." She couldn't help it anymore. She cried with him. She could not stop the tears from coming. She moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, holding him with the palm of her hand. She had to turn to do it. She was almost facing him now… one hand on his, her other on his warm face. Reaching across that space between them.

"A baby...yeah...I was...wasn't I? I was… it's me, that little boy… it's me."

"I know...it's not fair...it's not fair what he did to you..."

Tim had left the table and was leaning on a post, listening in and watching their exchange. He couldn't believe that Todd was so freely sharing with Téa. On the other hand, he was so consumed with grief that it had no place to go anymore. Like a swollen river. Wanting to keep on course, heading to the ocean, but flooding the lands all the way down. His utter sadness just overflowed.

Todd cried softly, "That boy used to know how to love things and people. He even loved Peter - he used to sit there and want to be like him. God...that stupid...stupid boy..." He pressed against her hand. Grunted softly. He wanted to lay on her, he did. He felt that compulsion to rub himself all over her, to feel her. He didn't. He inched his body a little bit closer to her, hoping the cutting pain that was running through him would end. It didn't.

"No, he wasn't stupid," Téa said affirmatively. "He was a child. Peter was his father - all children love their parents no matter what they do."

Todd felt her innocence. He could hear it in her voice. He could smell it. Innocence to him smelled like soap. Téa smelled that way – clean and pure. Michelle had smelled like that. Suddenly, the decaying, rotting body of the little boy he saw in front of him interfered and he separated himself from Téa, not wanting to dirty her. Pulling away, pulling his hand out of hers, pulling away from her other hand on his cheek, he slid to the other side of the sofa.

Téa worried she had done something wrong. "Oh no, what's the matter?"

He wiped his face with his sleeve, took a breath. "You don't know how much this hurts...I can't describe it to you." He raised his sleeve and looked at the cuts on his arm. "This was nothing." He raised his other sleeve, sliding it over the removable wrap that covered the more severe cuts. He took it off and stared at them. Téa had to look away. She couldn't bear the sight of them.

"This doesn't even come close to what I feel now. And Tim tells me this is good. I'm supposed to feel like this. I'd rather feel the physical pain, Téa. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she squeaked out, through her own tears.

"Oh, please don't cry anymore. It doesn't help. Believe me, I know. I've been doing enough crying to last a lifetime."

"Please let me get close to you. Let me try to comfort you - even if it's just a little. Please?"

He looked across at her with torment in his eyes. Hopeless comfort she was offering. He wanted her so much to do it - he wanted to kiss her. He didn't know why. He had nothing to offer her, as he had explained. Nothing. And yet the feelings remained. Pecking at him. He shrugged his shoulder and she moved the notebook away. Moved it to the other side of her. They gazed at each other. She moved closer to him. Closer. Closer. She was soon close enough for him to feel her heat. She carefully put her arm around his shoulders and he lifted the one closest to her as if he didn't want her to touch him. He was almost cringing. He closed his eyes. He was holding his breath.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to hold you," she said. He relaxed after a moment, accepting her affection. Accepting her expression of love. Something undeserved. He sighed, breathing again.

_That boy, though - look at him. How can we bury him? Lilacs - cover him with lilacs and sprays of pine - with the woods to shelter him, to protect him._

Todd let himself relax into Téa's embrace. He felt her in the crook of his neck, felt her caress him that way. He felt like a child. A baby in her arms. Heard the spirit say, _Let yourself feel her love._ He closed his eyes and moved his head slowly against her, a return movement. He tried to lose himself in her touching of him. Trying to feel it. Trying to understand it. Trying to remember what being loved felt like. Was this it? Was it always this soft and this quiet and warm? He opened his eyes and turned slightly, trying to see her. She raised her head slightly. Gazing back.

Ever so slowly, ever so delicately, he moved his face closer to hers and lightly pressed his lips on hers. Not kissing, just feeling her.

_Know this. Feel this. Remember this._

He pulled away though, his face crinkling in pain, controlling a desire to cry again. "I have nothing, Téa, for you. I'm so far away..."

She slid even closer to him, their sides flush against the other. She wanted to assure him but knew how delicate a tightrope she was on. Too aggressive and he'd get scared, too timid and he'd worry he hurt her. She said, "It's okay...like I told you...you take what you need. I am here for you. You call me any time...I'll come. Whenever. You want to touch me, you can. You want me to touch you, I will. You just want me around… I'll be here. I won't talk - I won't touch you. Take what you need. I won't ask anything back. Ever. It's a gift."

He shook with suppressed tears, with bottled-up hurt. He turned to her again. He did want to feel her, to feel that warmth she gave off so easily. He wanted to be squeezed so tightly by her that he couldn't breathe. _Suffocate me._ He wanted to die, wrapped up in gentleness and love. _Let me die like that. _

"Tighter," he said.

She tightened her hold of him, grasping onto him, their bodies close, and he sighed at that. He rubbed his head against hers again and put his mouth on hers again. Not kissing, just feeling her lips. Their noses touched.

"Hold me tighter," he whispered against her mouth and then rested his head on hers. And Tea held him with everything she had. Using all her strength. Squeezing him to her. Pressed until she thought she would burst from the pain of it.

With a shivery voice, Todd simply said, "Like that. Just like that."

_You can fly now, Todd. Or you can be stuck. So which will it be?_

* * *

><p>The cell phone twittered in the pocket of Phillip Manning as he drove his black Lexus back into Llanview from his cottage on the outskirts of town.<p>

"This better be who I think it is," he spat into the phone.

"And if it's not?"

The voice sounded familiar but Phillip wasn't sure. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Don't be so testy, Manning. Wanna know some information on your girl from Fayetteville?"

Phillip glanced at the mouthpiece of the cellular, surprised at hearing this one. It was Daniel Logan, his contact from the police station.

"The bones," Phillip growled. "You got the report on who they belong to?"

"Yeah."

Logan was calling from his office at the police station in West Virginia. His eyes scanned the report as he spoke. Checking his watch, he knew his family was safely out of the state by now. Thank God his partner was out of town on business for the time being. Not that it would be a worry because only Logan ever spoke to Phillip Manning. But one never knew.

"Well?"

"Like I told you before," Logan said. "Parts belong to a female in her early 20's. Our artist, in conjunction with the forensic guy, sketched a photo of what the poor girl would have looked like. Surprise, surprise… it's Chant. Your girl. We just closed the file."

"Oh yes...goddamn brilliant. HA!" Phillip let out a whoop of a laugh. It was done, but for that final witness. The missing third witness.

"Hey, send me a copy of the fucking report. I want to see that bitch's face."

"Sure. No problem. Where do I send it?"

Phillip gave him a post office box address in Chicago. His mail was forwarded from there to an empty office where one of his people picked it up and forwarded to yet another post office box in the next town from Llanview. Relatively untraceable. Not full-proof but close. As Phillip blew down the boulevard, clicking off the cell phone, he had only one thing on his mind. That the Mole was taking too long on completing his job. That he was going to have to start taking care of business with Jedediah Chant himself.

Once Logan hung up the phone on his end, he took a breath and looked at the report and what it really said: Skeletal Subject: Male, early 50's. He sincerely hoped the lie about Michelle being found would work. Vince, Logan's partner was another Manning employee at the Fayetteville station was the only problem. Hopefully, he wouldn't blow the whistle on Logan's lie. Facing that, Logan accepted the fact that he had just taken the biggest risk of his entire life. All for a beautiful, freckled woman he barely knew.

**To be continued….**


	3. Chapter 3

**On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2**

**Chapter 3**

_**Hell.**_

Todd felt himself sliding quickly through the mud of his nightmare, slicking past tree roots and rocks, worms and bugs. He had let himself go, let himself sink deeper into the muck. When his feet poked through the bottom of this causeway, however, he landed with a poof on top of his parents' marital bed. Found himself in their gold-wallpapered bedroom, tinged with avocado-green fabrics. And he kind of laughed because he had expected the volcanic cave, the melted rock, the moans of other Hell occupants. He had expected Satan himself, that shivering, black, insect-ridden monster. Instead he had landed in his childhood home. He regarded his perfect scarless body, clothed now, washed clean by his trip through the mud.

He sat up and looked around. Then spat, "Just another picture of hell, yeah? What's the matter, Peter, did the volcanic shit get _old_ for ya? Gotta come up with something _new_ 'cause you didn't get to me the last time? HUH?! You FUCK! "

After a moment, however, he stopped his bitter rant. Reflected for a couple of seconds. That's when he heard the grunts… the pained, whimpering grunts. Then it was silent. Soon a muffled struggle thumped its way into the bedroom. Then silence again.

_This isn't new...it's ancient. It's a vision you know well._

Night in the Manning household was a hell darker than any sulfur-smelling, fire-burning, lava-filled fantasy his imagination could create. He became aware of his mother sleeping next to him, the sight sending a shock of both longing and revulsion right through him. He reached out to touch her arm, to rouse her, but then understood she already passed out. Todd quelled a surge of nausea because it was on these nights after she had drunk and drugged herself into unconsciousness, that Peter inflicted the worst kind of punishment on his child. The noise from the other room arose again.

Todd did his best to shut out the symphony of pain that insisted on pealing its way into the bedroom, to him. But he couldn't.

An empty gin bottle stood on Barbara's night stand, a glass lay overturned on the green carpeting. Letting out a deep sigh at seeing his mother, Todd scrambled over her, ending up on floor on bent knees. He stared at her peaceful face, at her drunken blindness.

"Mom," he whispered, touching her brown mussed hair. Her high cheekbones. He touched her slightly parted lips. Kissed her cheek. Lingered that way, nose to nose, smelling her perfume. God, he had loved her. Why could she not have been stronger? He also saw her bruised upper arm. They probably had a row tonight, a raging, screaming, hateful one. Peter had hurt her again. She had it right, though. Being both alive and dead was an excellent means to an end.

"It's nice this way, isn't it, mama?" He said softly, still touching her face. "To be out cold, not hearing what's going on right under your nose? Not feeling it. It's so good, yeah?" Yes, chemical bliss. Something he had been wanting, too. _Give me magic pills, Doc, so I don't have to feel these memories anymore._ He kissed her again, straight on the mouth, whispering to her. "I love you…" But at the end of the kiss, he bit her lip hard, feeling fleshiness in between his teeth and tasting blood. Hissed as he pulled away from her still-dead self, "And I hate you."

Todd stood up and glanced out the partially closed door. All shadows and wall and green carpeting. He pulled the bedroom door fully open, one hand holding his stomach because he knew what he would find once he hit his old room. He was driven to go there. In the past, when talking about the house in which he grew up, he always described his room as being "way down the hall" but it wasn't. It was mere steps, really.

Todd stood outside his bedroom. Arrogant bastard, he thought. Didn't even close the fucking door on these nights. A shirtless Peter was zipping up his pants, smirking at the boy in the bed. The noise made his stomach lurch. He'd do it on purpose. Make it a noisy closing of his pants. Like triumph.

_Zzzzzippp….._

Todd could only stand there and observe. Mute and paralyzed.

"I hope you remember tonight's lesson," Peter grumbled, waiting for an answer.

"Homework first, then toys," a quiet voice answered.

"Good. What was the other lesson for tonight?"

Silence. The boy in the bed didn't know. Peter got real close. He grabbed him in between his legs…grabbed the delicate goods, "That you are _impotent_."

Todd closed his eyes tightly, the kid silent and still even though he was in pain. _Impotent._ Powerless, Peter meant. He slammed hands to his face because shut lids weren't enough to not see this shit. But after a moment, he had to look again. He lowered his hands. He used the boy's calm to calm himself. To be able to look. To remember. The scene was a long-buried scene. A typical scene. Todd breathed.

The boy… he was naked on the small bed. Short blond hair beginning to turn darker. Skinny limbs tense and flat. Hands in white-knuckled fists. Feet digging into the mattress. His eyes were fixed on the monster above him. Peter was hunched over the bed and it was clear he kept on squeezing… cruel eyes on the kid. A game of chicken.

He was dazed by the sight of himself on that bed. And he realized something there in the stillness, in the lack of reaction to the pain, Todd realized that his natural defiance had spread even to these nights. Peter used sexual abuse as punishment for perceived and real wrongs during the day. He never just came in the room for the sake of getting off… no, there were always lessons associated with the activities. Sick, sick… _lessons_. Todd found himself laughing. Efforts to break him… well, they sometimes failed.

Like now.

Peter stood up, releasing his son. He considered another step. His face was ugly, a mask of hate and frustration. Todd then stopped laughing because despite the defiance… Peter always won. He reached back to slap the boy's face and Todd turned away. Hearing the hand on soft flesh, a slap hard enough to get the boy to finally make a sound. A grunt only though. Something the boy couldn't control. Sheer physics forced the noise out.

Peter brushed past Todd, heading downstairs, leaving the child alone. As soon as the boy heard the sound of Peter hitting the downstairs entryway, he tenderly checked himself in between his legs. Todd's face crumpled in pain because he remembered his ritual check to be sure his father hadn't swallowed his genitals. He was always afraid of that. One reason he tended to shy away from oral sex as an adult. Instinctual nonsense. Tonight the boy was checking for intactness after the extra parting shot.

The boy wrapped himself up his blanket, speaking softly to himself in a slightly animated way. Todd couldn't make out the words at first. Then he remembered. The boy was pretending, mimicking a pilot's words at shooting down the enemy, _"To the right... no... to the left... he's right there... shoot... shoot!"_ A boy's make-believe whispered gunfire followed. The child watched his red airplane hanging on the fan and played make-believe as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just been horribly violated, but merely awakened by a small noise. By thirst. _Mama, can I have that drink of water? Can you hear me? _Todd leaned against the doorway, feeling sick, like he was going to pass out. Like his mom had already done, blessedly dull to the world, not wanting to feel, not wanting to know.

Todd then saw the boy get up from the bed and walk to the dresser. He pulled out some clean pajamas. There were bruises on his body. Places where Peter had pressed on him too hard. The boy hopped into some pajamas and studied the little figures on the fabric. Tiny rockets. Sat on the bed, expressionless and quiet. Not looking at anything. Soon he crawled under his covers, holding his hand tightly in between his legs to prevent any further thievery. After a while, he fell asleep. Todd remembered it was never very deep. He tended to waken to his father's stumbling steps back up to his and Barbara's bedroom. Then he would slip into a light slumber again.

Todd slouched against the doorframe and felt the familiar, loving breeze indicating that the spirit was around. "I don't want to remember this. Why do I have to remember? I don't want to mourn for this. It's all such...bullshit."

"It"s part of the process, part of your leaving Peter behind. It's part of your accepting what happened and understanding what role it played in your life. It leads to forgiveness."

Todd glared at the spirit, "Stop throwing that at me! You make it sound like it's all me! I WAS PUT HERE! That BASTARD should be on his fucking knees begging MY forgiveness! Not me asking! NOT ME!"

"But he can't. He's been condemned. He is beyond that kind of humility. The only one who can seek it is you. You are not lost."

"I don't want to feel this anymore. I am sick...sick of this depression, sick ... sick ... sick ..." Todd headed to his mother's room. Saw Peter lying on his back. Also passed out. They knew the best way out of Mansion Manning. Drugs. Anesthesia. That was the answer. She had it right. Chemical bliss.

_Got the magic pills, Doc?_

The spirit jingled about him, the tinkling sounds of glass ornamentation. Fragile and delicate. For a moment, he lost himself in the prettiness of it, in its musicality. But he broke away from her pull, snarling, "What the fuck do you know? You're not even _alive._ You're dead just like everyone else. Nothing but a figment of my pathetic imagination."

All he heard was her twittering, "You need to believe in _love._ Accept these memories as part of you and it will lead to fulfillment. It will lead to a healed heart and spirit. Don't listen to Peter. He is only as strong as you make him."

Todd heard Peter's voice behind him, a deep low laugh. The two men stood in the doorway, watching the boy in the bed once more. Sleeping that light sleep. Peter mimicked the spirit, "_Don't listen to Peter_…" More laughing. "Am I strong, boy? Am I still in your head, boy? Do you want to sleep the good sleep, boy?"

"I do."

"Then always listen to _me_."

* * *

><p><em>Take from me<em>, that's what Téa had told him. _Take what you need. _Like he hadn't already stripped her of all that made her who she was, as if he had not humiliated her at every turn, at every corner of their doomed relationship. He could still feel her arms around him from the other day, could still smell her, that clean, flowery scent. He had kissed her, to try to remember. To try to feel good. And god, she felt good. It DID feel good. But he got scared of the closeness. Afraid for her. He felt like bugs were crawling all over him, the maggots having escaped the dead child at his feet. He had slid away from her after a while, arms and hands up, cringing. Slid out of her tight hold of him.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

_Are you okay? Did I hurt you?_

_No, no… no, not you… go… go save yourself… the boy, the rotting boy is here..._

_I don't need saving, Todd. I'm okay. I'm safe, I'm fine._

_Save yourself… save yourself… save yourself..._

The crazy had come on hard and fast and Tim had to come to the rescue. And Téa left. She left. As she should have. As was needed. He wondered if she was going to come back to see him. She promised she would. But then, that was only two days ago. Why would she come back so soon? Why did anyone still come to see him?

Another part of him wanted her to stay away. To protect her.

Todd opened his eyes to the wintry afternoon sun shining into the recreation room, his hands at his side, unconsciously rubbing the rough fabric of the sofa into which he was slouching. Viki's chicken-soupy talk slathered over him and he tried to take her words in. Tried to absorb them. Turning to her, he looked at her mouth and then slowly reached up and touched her lips, realizing she stopped her prattle when he did that. He pulled his hand away, muttering an apology. Words began coming out of her mouth again and he once again watched her lips move, entranced by her voice, her calm and peacefulness. She quieted when he put his head on her shoulder. She kind of gasped when he did that. Surprised.

_Take what you need, Todd._ It wasn't just Téa he had taken from, he had taken from all of them, all those women. And it wasn't just taking but a pillaging. He had raped them, violently, hatefully, with everything that he was, with all that goddamned power Tim had talked about. It made taking from Téa very difficult, very conflicting.

_She is granting you permission. She loves you and she accepts you. She's forgiven you._

But the problem was that when he allowed himself to be comforted by her, when he allowed Téa that close to him, he always remembered the times he hurt her. He felt certain feelings when he touched her. He imagined..._doing_...things.

_Take what you need. She has you forgiven you your transgressions. _

There's that damn word again, he thought. _Forgiveness_.

_You can't forgive what I did. I can't. What happened to me...is no excuse. Don't you get that? I have to live with this carcass of a child on my back, I have to bear it. He died because of rape. Then...I turned around and chose to murder innocents in the same way. I knew the pain I'd cause and I did it anyway. And I did it better 'cause I did it with even greater hatred. I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry._

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Viki asked, her eyes soft and gentle, her tone warm. Like a mother. One who didn't abandon him, who could love him. He stared up at her, peering out from beneath suffocating, paralyzing despondency. He couldn't shake the sadness, the sorrow for the loss of himself through all the traumas he endured. Including the ones he was responsible for.

And all those colorful pills they were pumping him full of weren't helping, either. Blue one, white one. Changing colors. He'd just open his mouth and in they went. Just like other things.

_They knew the answer. Lying in bed, chemically relieved._

Todd cleared his throat, battling for a moment a sudden, powerful impulse to get into contact with his pusher, Paulie. He could hear the offer, the deal, the ease of delivery. He had offered something different than the meth. Meth hadn't brought him any peace. And nothing here was working. He took a breath and shoved himself to the other side of the couch. He needed the space. He felt raw, naked.

Viki eyed him patiently. Ever-present… patience. In a barely perceptible voice, he asked, "You say that Téa still loves me. That I'll get outta here. You say that my _daughter_ still loves me. Don't be naive. Don't insult yourself. Negative... negative... negative on all points."

"I'm not naive, I'm being honest based on what I see."

"How can they love me. Look at me. Stuck. Sick."

"I see your progress. I know it doesn't feel like progress, but it is. I was here once, too, you know. Where you are. And I did get better. It just takes time."

_Progress. I've moved from being psychotic, to not feeling, from being able to maintain my distance from that slaughtered boy, to being beneath granite slabs of grief for him. I am lying on top of him, the way Peter used to lie on top of me. The two of us squished together. God, please take away this pain._

"There's no end to this," he whispered.

Viki reached out to him and tried to put her hand on his shoulder but he jerked hard against the armrest of the couch. He'd quickly gone to his no-touching state. She smiled gently at him. "You just keep doing what you're doing. Keep writing, keep talking. And know that I love you, that I'm here for you, that Téa is, too. Lean on us."

"Nice you can say you love me... without laughing... but... I'm not allowed to be _loved_."

"Who doesn't allow you?" Viki asked, perplexity crossing her face.

"Me. When someone gets close... they get hurt. Even the ones I don't mean to hurt." He shook his head, "Whatever. Doesn't matter." Closed his eyes again. When he heard a recognizable beep-beep from the television, he watched. Watched the cartoon playing, watched the survivability of the coyote. How he always came back no matter what. He watched how the roadrunner always had the last laugh. The funny thing was in all actuality, the roadrunner, the innocent-appearing roadrunner, was the abuser. He was the cruel one because he pretended to be the victim, pretended to be innocent. The way Peter did. Faking innocence and societal importance. _Who me?_ The coyote, the stupid bruising coyote, thought he was smart, thought he was tough with all that canine drive. But he was the one who ended up in parts in the river bed. The way Todd ended up. The cartoon was a blend of disguises and masks. Un-truths, hidden agendas. Lies.

"Poor idiot," he said aloud.

"Your daughter doesn't like this program, either," Viki commented.

"I know. She likes the Power Rangers, especially the pink one. She likes it 'cause you always know who the bad guy is. It's big and ugly and..." Todd was overcome suddenly with an intense rush of hurt and he turned away, hunched into himself. The quietest whimper came from him.

Viki sighed, "I'm sorry. I know thinking about her hurts." She wished he would cry but she knew his depression was so severe that to cry was a near impossibility. It required too much energy, too much of a letting go. After a moment, he seemed to breathe easier. He watched the television again. Emptily.

Viki turned to the sound of someone approaching them and was pleased to see Tim. Concern for his patient was written all over his face, but he smiled anyway, "Hey there, kiddo. How's your visit coming?"

Todd didn't respond to him, his eyes still glued to the bouncing, noisy images in front of him.

"He's still pretty sad," Viki said. "Doesn't want me touching him today. I've just been talking away, but he doesn't seem much interested or very open to suggestion. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" She chuckled a little. No response came from Todd.

Nodding at Viki, Tim stepped in front of Todd and squatted down, Todd looking at him at last. "I'm changing some of your medication - in a couple of days you should be feeling better."

"Nothing helps. I'm ..._stuck_. Waiting... waiting to be shot down..._Doc_."

Tim gave Todd a compassionate gaze, one he so often gave to patients he saw during the day. Evaluating what he was looking at. Todd moved his head, sort of motioning that Tim was in his way. Turning to see what he was watching, Tim said, "Ahh the roadrunner." Looked back at Todd, "They sure need help, don't you think? A good mediator."

Todd shrugged. They had had an unproductive session in the morning together, Todd being quiet and non-responsive, scribbling in his journal wordless, black jumbles of lines. Tim tried to get him to explain what they meant, to tell him what he was thinking, but he only stared back with dolor, with that hopelessness. Finally, Todd had closed the book and started searching through his things, looking for something. Not telling Tim what he was on the hunt for despite being asked. He just kept opening drawers, rifling through his clothes lethargically. Obviously not locating what he wanted, Todd then had crawled back into his bed and went to sleep, sleeping through lunch until this afternoon when Viki had arrived. He had turned down food during the visit despite Tim's insistence.

"I have an idea," the doctor said, on his own search for what would affect Todd. "I was thinking that you really should see Starr. What do you say to that?"

Viki nodded in agreement, enthusiasm spilling over, "That's a wonderful idea. I'd be happy to bring her."

"No, for god's sake, no. No...please...no...no." Todd whipped his head fast, so set against seeing Starr. "I'll have to watch her leave a-a-and she might cry. A-a-and it'll be upsetting to her, to see me like this. I say weird things and they might scare her. No, no, no… I can't do that to her. NO!"

"Okay, okay," Viki said, trying to calm him. He'd gotten very agitated, very quickly.

"Can you both just stop trying to take care of me? Please? Tim… please… please let me… just… _feel the mourning_. Alone."

Tim was surprised at Todd's subtle sarcasm, hoping it was a sign that maybe the bleakness was lifting. He thought there was a bit more energy in his tone but worried he might just be seeing what he wanted to see. On the other hand, sudden energy in the midst of depression could mean a final decision to end things. "Alright, I'll leave you until dinner. Now...you have to eat this time around. Remember our rules. You take care of yourself physically and I help you along with the emotional stuff."

"Whatever. Fine. Bye."

_Number...what was Paulie's number? I wanna fly. I wanna feel that good feeling. For once. Just once. Then I'll get back on this fuckin' ride through hell. "Take what you need." I know what I need and you can't give it to me, Delgado._

Standing up, Tim then said, "One last thing. I'd like to talk to your sister about where you are in your therapy. Do you have a problem with that?" Todd said nothing. "I won't disclose any substantive items from our discussions… just give her a general report."

Todd looked over at Tim, looked at Viki, then said softly, "I don't care what you say. Tell her anything you want. Tell her everything...tell her what a freak I am…"

"You aren't that. I'm keeping it general. Would you rather me update her in front of you - would that make you feel better?"

"No," Todd said, but then… he turned to Tim. Said flatly, "I want better pills. Something to make me not feel anything."

Tim got thoughtful, serious. Furrowed his brows. "The meds I'm giving you will help over time. Give them time to work. Feeling the sadness is important, though. Hard work… but important."

"Fine, whatever. Go away." He returned to his watch of the television, again, unconsciously rubbing the fabric of the sofa once more.

Viki got up, taking a last glance at Todd. He didn't look at her. She crossed the room with Tim, following him. "What can I do?" she asked when Tim faced her, his eyes moving to his patient for a bit then back to Viki.

"What you're doing," he said. "Showing him you care, trying to engage him, encouraging him, being supportive. He does real well with you."

"Tell me what's happening, then. I mean, I think I know. I remember being in a similar place...but it doesn't take away my worry. I still feel helpless. Like what I'm doing isn't enough."

"He's at a very tenuous stage right now. The depression is severe. He's revealed things that have happened to him, recovered memories which are very difficult because there's no adjustment to them… no distance. He's grieving, he's angry, frustrated that there's no way to confront his abuser. He might actually be seeing Peter in himself so he does tend to turn inward with his anger."

"What do you mean he's grieving?"

"He feels a loss of himself, his independence, he feels the loss of himself as a child. He refers to the 'boy' as another person, actively mourning his death, presumably at the hands of his father. It's very difficult but there is an end. It will get better. Just… takes time. And time passes slowly."

It was Viki's turn to watch Todd a moment. "I know that kind of grief. Very well."

"I wish you didn't understand it in such an intimate way. I'm sorry you do." He paused, gazing at Todd in the room. "I'm going to be honest with you. He's reluctant to pull out of the depression. He was doing well with his journal, but today was something else. This morning… concerned me. He could become suicidal...he hasn't made threats or anything, I want to be clear on that. But I'm concerned he could try to leave again. I'm having the nurses keep a close watch, but there's little we can do, really, if he decides to leave."

She nodded, chewing her lip. "Can't you use the possibility of suicide? Of being a danger to himself?"

"Standard is 'clear and present danger.' He's coherent enough to defeat attempts by a court to say he's not; possibility isn't enough. Needs to be _probability_. And… no doubt, he's coherent enough to get his own lawyer to fight any attempt of forced hospitalization. But by all means, get your own lawyer, Viki. See what you can do."

Viki put her hand to her chest, as if she hurt. As if she could stop the sympathetic pain. She remembered the last time he ran, the near miss with Jedediah. What if nobody ran across him? What if he ran out of such dumb luck?

"I'll do just that. The lawyer."

"I'm going to keep talking with him, offering him options. Keep encouraging him. I'm working on a better chemical regimen as well to help with the depression. Bottom line… he makes his own decisions about how he wants his treatment to progress, about how he wants to handle his emotions."

Viki gazed on Todd, still watching, still as death. He needed to stay… he needed inspiration to stay. And she had no idea what that might be. She wondered if Tim wasn't so much as telling her a possibility of his leaving, but maybe… a certainty.

* * *

><p>Asa Buchanan was stuck between a rock and a hard place, as they say. FBI Agent Jack Neederman's steely eyes and gravelly voice told him just how cornered he was.<p>

"So you gonna tell me about Phillip Manning?"

Asa had pretty much lived his life on the edge of the law, always risking, always testing. Bullying weaker people than him and always winning. Unfortunately, Phillip Manning ruined his track record. Asa should have known better, but getting control of Angel Square was too tempting to pass up even if it involved a deal with the devil himself. Bribing city council members, conning weaker folk out of their hard earned money, and taking cash in exchange for his cooperation, all had been a price to pay to be the top dog.

Jack sat across from the large Texan in the temporary office at Llanview P.D., the subpoena for Asa's business records in front of him. The stack of documents Cassie had obtained from the Mole sat in a neat pile to the side. With his hand resting on the desk, Jack pushed the subpoena back and forth on the desk, making a rhythmic swishing sound.

Asa slammed his hand on top of the paper, "I want immunity before I talk."

"What is it about immunity in this town? Everyone wants to get off scot-free for their crimes. Why is that?" Jack did not release his gaze from Asa.

Leaning back on his chair again, Asa glared at the federal agent, "You say this Manning is bad, that you want him… that he's committed murder. That makes me think the cat's worth catching to you… so… I think you oughta cut me a deal. Assure me you won't prosecute my sons… and I'll talk."

"You want immunity for your _sons_. What about for yourself?"

Asa looked down, thinking of Renee, Bo, Clint. "I'm the one responsible for this mess… I dragged my sons into this. They don't know anything, they don't know the real deal."

"So you'll talk."

"In exchange for your promise to keep my sons out of this, yeah. And maybe I don't get jail time."

"Ah. Knew you wouldn't want prison." Jack started swishing the paper again on the desk. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. Mumbled a conversation with some other federal crony, making Asa wait. Sweat it out. Asa had no choice. If he kept quiet and continued along with the game, the feds were going to put him through a trial. And because Phillip was missing, he was going to pay for all of the sins, along with Bo and Clint. On the other hand, if he talked, he had Phillip to deal with, Phillip's insanity, Phillip's henchmen. But at least he'd have the government behind him. Perhaps others would follow his footsteps and talk, too. Asa always had the feeling Phillip was hanging onto his empire by a thread and all it needed to fall apart was a little tension. By offering himself up, he was assured that Bo and Clint would be kept out of it.

The phone got dropped onto the cradle noisily and Jack smiled at Asa, "You got yourself a deal, Buchanan. Immunity for the boys and no jail time for you, provided you give us solid evidence."

Asa eyed Jack, eyed the dingy walls of the office, the piles of paper. Wondered whether these were to be his last days of life. Would Phillip get to him?

"All right," he said. "Let's get started then."

* * *

><p>Phillip Manning had spent his morning tracking Jedediah Chant himself. He figured out where he lived, following the little shit on his bike the previous day. So this morning, he watched the boy get into the car with Kevin Buchanan around 7:30 in the a.m., head on over to the Palace Hotel for breakfast, and then finally disappear into the confines of the Banner Newspaper. It was 4:00 p.m. now and Phillip waited outside the building in his rented car for an opportunity to befriend Jedediah, part of his larger plan.<p>

Admittedly, it wasn't a good plan because he knew his hatred was settling in on him. He was losing control over his empire. The Mole, his long-trusted worker was not being very cooperative or very available. Several other workers were now hiding thanks to the federal rampage over at Manning Enterprises back in Chicago. He was a fugitive for god's sake.

There was something else, though. Pushed him over the edge of rational thought. He learned his paid-off cop, Daniel Logan, over at the Fayetteville police department, lied to him about the bones they found.

Lied that they had been confirmed as those of Michelle Chant.

He read an article from a local Fayetteville newspaper about hikers having discovered parts of a skeleton. Authorities said they belonged to a man rather than a woman. A pencil rendering of the guy was published. A man in his fucking fifties. Now, why would the son-of-a-bitch lie? Why would he have created this falsehood? WHY ELSE?!

The bitch must be alive.

Taking a breath, Phillip grumbled as he lit another cigarette, rubbing his very short hair. Holding the Marlboro in one hand, he took a bite out of a sandwich. Looked in the rear-view mirror at his newly bleached hair and shaven face. When he returned his gaze to the Banner, a grin slowly spread across his face.

Jedediah Chant was walking out of the building with a backpack on his shoulder, strutting like it was goddamn Christmas. Once he was sure Jedediah was alone, he hopped out of the car, locked the door, and shoved the keys into his pocket. He crossed the street and had to walk fast to keep up with the kid. Jedediah soon hit a red and waited for the light to change, his eyes drawn to a pretty girl across the street. He turned around to face a friendly smile and a friendly introduction, "Winter's comin' pretty quick, uh?"

The accent reminded Jed of the Virginia mountain folk and he was instantly intrigued. "Where are you from, your accent...uh...?" he asked.

"Weste'n Virginia, from da hills. Visitin', lookin' for some kinfolk o'mine." Phillip looked directly at the boy, looked at his light eyes, seeing less than abashed innocence. This boy carried with him a certain knowledge. Like he'd been burned and learned to keep his precious fingers out of the flame. Phillip, though, was calculating on a weakness he knew existed.

"I'm from West V," Jed said, a hint of caution in his voice.

"Thought so...you named, Jedediah, no?"

Jedediah's initial curiosity turned to straight suspicion, Kevin's recent nervousness over his being alone coming back. He looked around for others, ambushing types. Over the past couple of weeks, Kevin had changed from a cool friend to a friggin' nervous mother. Cassie was just as bad. They would hardly let him breathe, not letting him move around town. It was driving him nuts and they wouldn't tell him what their problem was. So he kept escaping them, driving _them _nuts.

"Who wants to know?" he said.

The man laughed heartily, a real belly laugh, "Da name's Nemo, Nemo Torn. I be a cousin o'yours, a cousin to your motha, Michelle."

Jed's heart leaped into his throat. The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a bracelet. "She gots a message for ya'. She say to come home to her. But you gotta go alone. No company, no tellin' nobody. Too dangerous. I'll take you to her."

Jed could hardly breathe and he looked away, completely at a loss. After a few moments, he dared to look at the bracelet. A laced gold one with a flat engraved piece in the middle. He knew what it said, knew it said, "Michelle." He remembered that bracelet, remembered playing with it when they would lie in bed together singing those songs and telling those stories. When she would look at him with her loving eyes and laugh in her special restrained way so Beatrice wouldn't hear them. So Beatrice wouldn't know of their secret mother-son relationship.

"Where'd you get that?" Jedediah huffed.

"Told ya'. It's from your motha'. She be waitin' for ya'. She sent me to get ya'."

"How the hell did you find me?"

"I be followin' ya. Since you showed up in da Fayetville. I done heard ya' talkin' to da reporta dat one day. I told your motha', den I followed ya here."

"Why'd you wait to talk to me? I don't understand."

"Shhh...chile, you don't got no worries wit' me. I take you to her."

"No… no… I don't believe you. She's dead… the papers said she's dead… that guy killed her… they're looking for him. I don't know you."

Phillip looked away, making sure nobody noticed Jedediah who was getting too heated, too upset. He was bound to attract some maternal bitch's attention. So far so good, he thought. Although Jed was nervous and itching to bolt, Phillip knew he had him hooked. This kid wasn't going anywhere.

"She be alive, Jedediah Chant. She be hidin' from da man dat nearly done 'er in. She ain't riskin' comin' to da city. But she want you home. She loves ya."

"Get the hell outta here…" Jedediah turned around hard, not knowing what to do, where to go, not ready to leave. Jesus, who was this guy?

"I'll give you time, time to think about it. You go on ahead … I know where ya' livin'. I'll catch up to ya'. No need to be 'fraid." Phillip gave Jedediah his nicest, warmest smile possible and took Jedediah's hand into his. Dropped the bracelet into the boy's hand, "She wants ya' home with her."

Jedediah took the bracelet and ran across the street, taking a last look at the stranger before he ducked around a corner. Dying inside, lost.

* * *

><p>The Mole arrived at the Banner to see if he could spot Jedediah, to make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid. He parked his car across the street and looked about, not seeing him yet. 4:45 p.m and he thought he might have missed him. Lately, the kid had taken to making himself too vulnerable, that Buchanan not being able to control him very well. And now the Mole was feeling like a goddamn babysitter.<p>

He felt the jingle of his cell phone and reached into his pocket, pulling it out. "Yeah." He heard nothing. Angered, he growled, "Ya know, I don't have time for this shit. Is this Manning? Cause you're the only—"

"Yeah...yeah..._Manning_."

When the Mole had said, "Manning," he had meant Phillip, not Todd. It was the latter who was on the phone. Ironically, only Phillip and Todd had his cell phone number. He used a pager number with everyone else. Phillip had it because he paid the most, there always being a lot of work. Todd had it because he paid a lot for very little work and because he wasn't about to stand around waiting for a drug dealer to call him at work. Or at home. Strange irony, their names. He was pretty sure the two men were connected somehow, related maybe. Phillip refused to say.

"Todd… man...I've been thinkin' about you...how's it hangin'?"

"Ok...I guess..." Todd's voice was low, breathy, and the Mole had to strain to hear it. The guy sounded like crap. Ok, my ass, he thought. Fuckin' hospitals. They don't know anything about how to relieve pain. Nothin'. He always liked Todd Manning, liked his honesty. Whenever Manning bought product, he'd always kick in a little extra green, just for the Mole's trouble. Just for his silence. "To the grave, my man, to the grave," the Mole would promise, stuffing the money into his coat pocket. It was why he delivered the speed to the hospital that one time. Good times… delivering to the lock-down ward. Slid that shit right to Manning… right under the noses of the staff. Todd hadn't been all with it, then, but he managed that day. Managed well… considering. Todd didn't know him as the Mole, but as Paulie Smith. More or less the Mole's real name.

"So what will it be today?" he asked. "French fries? Coke? A little...Happy Meal with a lift? Or maybe you just need some peace, man."

"Yeah… what you said the last time… tell me..."

The Mole shook his head. His friend sounded real fuckin' bad. Yeah, he hated hospitals. People went in and never came out. "You need a piece of heaven, man, that's what you need. It's white and pretty. I can take care of you."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta... have say in this. Stuffing me with shit I don't know. Nothing's working."

Low and slow he talked, the pain palpable. Not right. "I hear ya'. You gotta take things into your own hands. Fuck these doctors. Don't know shit."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well then, we're square. Be in front of that fuckin' place round nine tonight and I'll pick you up. Set you right."

"You… want me to leave… here?"

"You still locked up?"

"Not anymore."

"Then what the fuck are you waitin' for? Take control of your shit, like you always have!"

"Like I always have."

"Hell, yeah. I'll pick you up in your own private limo, daddy-o. Hook you up with the prettiest princess you'll ever know. She'll rock your world like nothin' else…"

At the hospital, Todd was hanging on the patient phone in the hallway. Hanging on like it was all he had left. Forehead on the wall, phone in his hands, cradled against his ear. Viki had gone home at his insistence, Tim was making rounds. The nurses were watching him. The hurt had grown too much in the past hours. He could barely move, could barely eat. Could barely drag himself to the bathroom. He wanted something to stop the pain and the garbage Tim was giving him wasn't working. He ran out of patience. Didn't want to see the boy anymore. The one at his feet. Tim had tried talking to him, but he couldn't answer anymore.

"Go away," he had finally wrenched out to Tim. "I'm okay," he had lied. "Just tired."

The Mole repeated his question, "Well? You gonna be at the north door at nine?"

Todd looked at the nurses, looked down at himself, looked at his cut arms, looked at the clock. Téa was safe. Far away. She'd tried to see him an hour ago… and he just couldn't do it to her. Couldn't spread the maggots to her... so yeah, home, as she should be. Along with Starr and Jed. Viki would get over it. And... he could get some peace. At his say, at his own call. No more strange colored pills being shoved down his throat. The boy at his feet told him so. _No more, no more._ And so did Peter who stood right next to that dead boy. Who promised nothing but more hell...

"Yeah," he said. "Come get me."

_God, take away this fucking pain, just take it away. Doc, I want to fly just like you said. But I only know one way right now._

**To be continued….**


	4. Chapter 4

**On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2**

**Chapter 4**

_Could it be true? Could Michelle be alive?_

Jedediah huddled on his bed at Kevin's house as he studied his mother's bracelet. He played with it, feeling the cool chain links drag across his palm. He put part of it inside his mouth, tasting metallic coldness, features crinkling with pained remembrance. Lying back on the bed, he dangled her gold bracelet above him, tears slipping down onto his neck. He pulled out the necklace from underneath his sweater. They matched. Jed stared at the ceiling not knowing what to do about this information he had, about the man who wanted to take him to her. A man who said he'd come find Jed again. He sighed heavily, that aching sense of loneliness creeping up on him.

He heard a rapping at his closed door and quickly wiped his face, sitting up and ramming the fragile bracelet into his pocket. "Yeah?"

Kevin leaned against the closed door in complete relief. "Hey Jed," he asked softly, "Can I come in?" He had been worried sick ever since the kid had left the Banner. Over Kevin's objections, he left to get something to eat, insisting he would be fine, but never came back. He and Cassie had been beside themselves with fear. Even the Mole said he'd lost sight of him.

"Uh...yeah...it's open."

Kevin walked into the room and had to fire out some questions, "What happened to you? Why'd you take off? You gotta call us-" He stopped, though. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing… just… a little stressed. You know...winter coming on and all that...'cause I really wanted to go back to West V."

"I know… and we're going, I promise." Kevin sat on the bed, patting Jed on his knee. Added, "Jack Neederman contacted Hannah. He wants to interview her and I've convinced him that we need to be there."

"_When_, though? I'm tired of waiting. You keep promising…" Jed was tempted to tell Kevin about Nemo Torn, but hesitated. What if it was true? Any chance at all of it being true. How could he put Michelle at any risk that Phillip Manning could find her again, kill her...for real this time? Jedediah wondered what Todd would say. He'd be suspicious of the police, Jed figured, of the feds. He might offer a different solution. He might support the idea of going with the stranger. Jed didn't know. Not that Todd was in any sort of frame of mind to have any conversation with anyone. Viki said he was still pretty screwed up.

Kevin looked away guiltily, "I'm sorry. There's a reason we're sort of in limbo here...and...uh.."

"What's going on with Phillip Manning?" Jedediah interrupted. "I mean...do they know where he is? The cops?"

"No. He disappeared when the feds stormed his offices in Chicago." Kevin didn't want to tell Jedediah that most likely Phillip was in Llanview. Stalking Jed. The reason they hadn't gone anywhere, the reason everything was sort of on hold. After the kid's afternoon disappearance today, Kevin didn't think he had much choice anymore. And he knew they were alienating him with their manic over-protectiveness. He was a young, independent man, who wanted to be roaming, exploring Llanview. Maybe even dating. But he couldn't very well do any of these normal things with a lunatic on the loose. He should be warned, Kevin and Cassie decided.

He should know.

Just as Kevin was about to jump headlong into telling, Jed blurted, "I want to see Todd. Ya' think the doctor will let me see him?"

"Of course he will. I'm kind of surprised, though. You've been pretty hostile about him. Why the change?"

Jedediah looked away at a sudden rush of emotion, being too overwhelmed by what was essentially a re-emergence of his mother in his life. So many thoughts running through his head. Kinda felt like he had no home anymore, like he had no people. He stopped it up, though. Said through a tight jaw, "I don't know… I don't KNOW. Just feel like I need to see him again."

Kevin laid a firm hand on the kid's shoulder. "I'm sorry. This all must be crazy hard on you." The kid looked so young at the moment. So much like Todd, and yet not. "We'll get you there, to West V., to Todd. He's gonna come around. He's getting better everyday. In the meantime… there's something you need to know about Phillip Manning. Something very serious."

* * *

><p>Tim rubbed the blond mass of curls on his head as he stood at the front desk, going through files. Admitted three new patients just this evening, all being transferred from Statesville. Even though he'd reduced his caseload to tend to Todd… the few still required significant time. The lock-down admittance procedure was so laden with paperwork that often Tim said to whoever would listen that he was a doctor and not some clerical grunt out of law school. Venting. Hours spent working up insurance and government forms were precious time lost for troubled patients.<p>

And Todd was definitely in need of that precious time right now. He opened his medical file.

Skipped dinner and rejected a visit from Téa which meant he was in another downward spiral. The medications were obviously not alleviating the situation which of course is always the great challenge of psychiatry. He was a much a chemist as he was a doctor. Psychiatric drugs vary from patient to patient and it is not unusual for the right combination to take months to be discovered. A constant game of hide and seek. Tim did assign his intern to work up a formal report on the medication Todd was on, as well as do further research on alternative meds, so hopefully he could start a new program as soon as possible. The effects still wouldn't be felt for another couple of days-

Tim's pager went off, but as he poked around his belt to bring it up to look, a security guard sounded out a firm command to someone. The words were said, but not sinking in because his mind was on files and the pager…

"Hey, you can't just leave!"

A quiet voice coming back… "Don't tell me what to do."

Down the hall, buried in hospital noise...a nurse kept talking in an upset manner and then called out, "Dr. Graham...we have a problem..."

Just as Tim focused on the commotion down the hall, he recognized the source of the aggravation: Todd was pushing open a door to the staircase.

He was leaving.

Tim hissed a loud, "Shit!" as he tossed the files down and sprinted past the rooms, down the hallway, waving away the security guard and the nurse. He knew this was coming. God DAMN. Bottom line: if Todd wanted out, there wasn't a thing anyone could do. He was just healthy _enough_. No clear and present danger. GOD DAMN. Tim skipped steps. His patent had moved fast, already out of the stairwell. Tim hit the lobby floor, head whipping in all directions, landing on a security guard - "Shoeless patient… that way," pointing to the north door. The doctor ran and slammed through the exit. And there, at the far end of the walkway, settling himself down on the curb, was Todd.

"Hey, kiddo, where you going?" Tim rasped, having a hard time masking uncharacteristic panic.

"A walk," Todd mumbled, not turning to the doctor, staring down the street. He was calm, quiet. Unmoved by Tim's urgent tone.

_Come and get me, Paulie. Lift me up and out of this fucking hell-hole.  
><em>  
>"Come on, let's get back inside. It's damn cold out here." Tim was starting to sweat despite the chill because he saw Todd in "traveling" mode with his jeans, a thick sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Except he had no shoes, socks only. The hospital had kept them away from him for just this reason. He didn't care. He was running and he'd run naked if he had to.<p>

"Go 'way."

"You can't go anywhere. It's too cold. It's not safe for you."

Todd finally turned to the doctor, light eyes full of pain, and in a soft voice said, "Don't tell me what I can or can't do. I wanna fly, doc, just like you said. So that's what I'm doing... _flying_."

"Not this way. 'Flying' means dealing with your pain, not running away. Facing it head on and absorbing it, learning from it. Getting in with your life. Come on, Todd. Let's go inside. Let's talk."

"I'm okay. Just l-leave me here." Todd returned his morose gaze to the street, keeping watch.

"I can't," Tim said. "I have a responsibility to you, to protect you. To help you. Please don't do this. You don't even have proper shoes, kiddo."

He glanced at his feet, rubbed his head. As if he just noticed the absence. He reached down and wiped the bottoms of his socks. Curled his toes when he set feet back on the asphalt.

"Don't do what, doc?"

"Run. Your ghosts are only going to follow you."

"Oh. Well. I chose the wrong method before. Not making that mistake again." He then stood up, sticking his hands into his pockets, and gently began rocking back and forth on his heels.

"What are you talking about?" Tim moved closer to Todd. Maybe he could get him on the clear and present danger standard… if he made a single threat to himself, Tim could call the police. Force him back inside. Pennsylvania law. "What method?"

"Heaven, hell ... piecing pieces of a puzzle together ... trying to make sense ... makes no sense ... why ... why ... no fucking sense." Todd was shivering now from the cold.

"What makes no sense?" Tim asked, knowing Todd was spitting out fragmented thoughts, as if he was too tired to pull the various concepts together. He knew it was the depression. "Tell me what makes no sense. Let's work through it."

"Nothing makes sense ... not me, not him, not Téa... not anything ... the why ... why ... "

"You mean the abuse?"

"All of it. Abuse ... love ... rape ... sex ... violence ... none of it ... all of it ... I make no sense ... we make no sense ...no answers..."

"Oh Todd… such big questions to answer on the street."

His patient turned to him, eyes wounded… such endless pain there. He wanted answers.

"Okay… let's start with the abuse." Tightening his fists and clenching his jaw, Tim spoke faster, every minute counting because he knew he was running out of time. "You're right. None of it make any sense. You're remembering what happened to you as a child, through a child's eyes. The terrible confusion. The world is upside down. You trusted your father to act as a father should and he betrayed you. Your mother betrayed you, too. Th-the- the 'whys' we may never understand. So it's up to you to accept the absence of explanation and learn from it. Continue to talk about how it affected you. The way you've been doing - and you've made huge leaps - my God, you're healing, Todd. Absorbing this pain ... kiddo, come on... please listen to _me._"

Todd was running hard and fast from his grief and Tim was truly afraid of where this road was leading to. He had to pull him back in. But he wondered whether his patient was too far gone for anyone to reach. It sometimes happened. Doctors sometimes could not help; they were sometimes imperfect and ineffective.

Shaking his head, Todd stammered, "No ...no ... no ...no ... can't do that … can't absorb this ... I'm all out. No more room ... puzzle ... puzzle ... no answers ... none ..."

A dark-colored older BMW slowed down across the wide boulevard and Todd clearly reacted to it, eyes fast on the car, a caught breath. Tim was losing his composure, his voice straining more than usual, and his pitch rose with fear for a patient he had become too attached to.

"Todd, where are you going? You have to tell me so I can help you. Let me help you!" He couldn't take losing patients, couldn't take losing. But this one… this one had gotten inside of him.

_Why, Timothy, why this patient?_

Todd turned to Tim, stepping off the curb, standing with his back to the road. The city behind him looked so vast, so easy to get lost in. Tim never knew how big Llanview was. Tonight… it was so… big and dark and dangerous.

"To heaven, Doc. Gonna find me some peace. Some fuckin' peace. My treatment, at my say..."

"How?! How is that person going to give you peace?!" Todd looked both ways, preparing to cross, having to wait for a few cars to pass by. He didn't respond to Tim. A sudden horrible light went off in the doctor's head. "Wait a minute, by 'peace,' do you mean _drugs_? Is this your pusher? Is this that Smith guy that brought you the meth?"

_Clear and present danger… clear… and present..._

Todd stopped a moment, a hesitation. Eyes dragged to the doctor. Tim huffed in response, hands on his head, "Holy hell, Todd… are you kidding?! Remember when he brought the speed? Remember how as soon as your run was finished, you were just as broken, just as sick as before? Remember? Remember how much you still hurt? Kiddo, please..."

"No, too fucked-up...don't remember."

"Don't lie to me...or to yourself! The drugs are what brought you here! The psychosis... it was caused by drugs! There is NOTHING YOUR PUSHER CAN GIVE YOU THAT IS GOOD! Nothing!"

Todd turned around now, angry, a burst of unexpected, surprising energy, "You lie! He can help ... he knows what's good for me ... he says-"

"He says what, that you won't become an addict? That you can take it easy...that a few hits is all you need? That you won't overdose if you're smart about it? That your whole life won't be more fucked-up than it is now?!"

"He says hospitals don't know shit and that's true... it's absolutely true..." Todd looked with such emptiness at Tim, such pain, that for a second Tim felt the argument. Felt, yeah, this whole psychiatric industry was shit.

"It's just slow, kiddo, that's all. Please… give me your hand. Come with me." Tim stretched out a thick heavy hand, a hand Todd knew… how warm it always was, how assuring. How deeply deeply safe. Instinctively, almost knee-jerk, Todd slowly moved to take that hand into his… eyes on it, his lips parted in a kind of aware gasp… he could feel it... safe, safe, safe...

And it all ended. Todd's features broke…brows cracked with sadness, a face that killed the doctor, ripped right through him because he could see his patient so wanted to take that hand. But… he yanked his hand back.

"Look at me, Doc... I hurt so fucking bad I can't even get up to piss. I ... I c-c-can't write ... I c-c-can't eat. Can't talk. I can't even hear when people t-t-talk to me… 'cause all there is, is pain. Loud, screaming… _pain_. The only reason ... I'm out here and not holed up in that stupid room, the only reason I'm even talking ... is because of the hope that something is out there that can take all this away. For a single moment, I want to not _feel_."

Todd's voice had thinned, had lost the little strength he had. He swallowed, watched a few cars speed by, squinting at the cold rush of air that hit him. He covered his face, hands up, such a symbol of hopelessness. "I don't want to remember this shit anymore," he wept, "... I don't want to feel it. I hid what my father did for so long and now ... it's back and...and… every day, more and more and more..." Fierce fiery eyes focused now right at the doctor, fists now up, "I don't want it ... I DON'T WANT IT!" Then, the energy disappeared again… only a whisper now.

"Doc… I don't want it."

"I know that ... God ... but you gotta believe that it's just a phase of your recovery and not a permanent situation. Give me more time ... please ... _please _... we'll work together on your medications...we'll both look at what's offered ... together ... everyday we can examine how it's affecting you ... you can even do the research yourself." The doctor looked desperately at Todd who had become the judge and jury to Tim's lawyering, a fight for his patient's life. But the sad truth was… the doctor was losing and he knew it.

"I gave you time."

The car chugged across the street, the old engine noisy and anxious, exhaust plumes twisting up into the streetlights. No plates, far enough away so nobody could ever identify it, the man in it only a shadow behind a window. Todd started toward it, the street empty now. As a last-ditch effort, Tim grabbed his arm roughly, breaking all his own rules about touching patients aggressively.

Todd looked back at his doctor, a flash of hurt on his face, no doubt at the hard touch. Eyes on Tim's hand then up. But Tim didn't release him, pleading now, "Don't go. Whoever that is, can't help you. What he's offering is gonna bring all your hard work to a crashing halt. Please, please, please listen to me. He's only going to hurt you."

Todd chuckled, "Oh my God… nobody can hurt me anymore, Doctor Graham. I couldn't be anymore destroyed that I am right now. And when you hit the bottom, there's only one way to go: up. Right? There's no more falling to do." He pulled his arm out of Tim's grasp and added, "At least it feels that way. To me." He walked slowly across the street, his head down, one hand shoved back into his pocket again, the other rubbing the spot where Tim had grabbed him. He hobbled a little, his psychic pain turned physical. Phantom pain from the rape…

"Todd! Don't do this..." Tim's voice trailed off and he knew he lost his patient. Todd made his way around the front of the car. He looked up at Tim for a moment before opening the car door, the expression unreadable. An apology maybe, a look of resignation. The two held each other's gaze just a second or two longer. Then...he slipped inside the car and it took off, red tail lights looking like the devil's eyes, exhaust like smoke from the fires of Hell.

He called the police… reported it. Sounded drained. He heard it. "Todd Manning… age 31… six foot one, 160, 170 lbs, blue jeans, dark knit sweater, brown hair in a ponytail… _no shoes…_ scars on his lower arms, scar on his right side cheek… yes, you know him… this is his doctor, Timothy Graham. He has left the psychiatric wing of Llanview General without proper…" He paused, closed his eyes, shook his head…Spat,"..._paperwork_. Yes, sir, yes, he's a clear and present danger to himself… suicide by..." Useless. He knew where the report would go. Low… low… low. "Suicide by neglect, threat of illegal drugs..._no shoes..._"

Useless.

Tim stood on the street, the chill cutting through this his bones, and he groaned, "Oh God. God damn it."

* * *

><p>The Mole looked over at his passenger who had immediately sunk in low in the seat next to him. Found himself a bit shocked at the sight. Thin. Empty. No life inside of him. And he realized in an instant that he was the derelict Jedediah Chant had picked up on his motorcycle that one night, the "T'warent no derelict" that Phillip Manning had lost his shit over. Holy <em>fuck<em>. He'd only ever seen Todd in suits and the one time in pajamas at the hospital. He had a whole other thing going on now. More mind-boggling was the fact that slam-dunk, no question... Todd, Phillip, and the kid, Jedediah, were all connected.

"Well… well … hey there, _Manning_. Bet you're glad to have crawled out that goddamned rat trap. Who was the curly top chattin' you up? Didn't look too happy."

Todd didn't say anything, his eyes stuck on the outside, stuck on a world he was not a part of. He watched the city blocks whip past in the darkness, wondering who was inside the buildings. Whether they were alive or dead in those places. He rubbed his socked foot on the rubber mats on the floorboards. Gripped the side of the passenger seat.

"We're headed to the China Moon Motel. Got a room there...we can do our business in private and away from prying eyes. It's way on the edge of town."

_Business in private… so nobody will see. I won't tell anyone what we do in that room. I can do so many things to you… and you can do them to me. I can do it all. I know how to do it all._

Todd ran a finger across the window, condensation making it wet. Rubbed his feet on the rubber mats. Over and over. Cold wet on the window. Resisted putting his tongue there. _Taste the cold wet. _Funny thing, taking control of his own treatment. Didn't feel like it. Glanced at scrub-headed Paulie Smith, humming as he drove… what a phony name that was. He was trapped in this car… handing his life over, yeah? No, no._ I am the decider. I make the final call. I say what goes in_. He was grabbing a moment for himself, for his damaged memory-soaked brain.

_Take away this pain, man. Just do your magic and take it away._

He remembered the first time he met Paulie. The circumstances. Ever since returning from Ireland, Todd had been struggling with horrific nightmares; vivid, gruesome ones. Everything short of the sexual abuse. But he had been managing them. Sort of. Up until he proposed to Téa. He had thought his life was changing at that time, getting on track. She had said 'yes.' She had actually agreed after all they had been through and it had been so... _sweet_.

Then disaster struck. He found Georgie's body. Sent him careening into his past at a dizzying speed. The rape came to life in full color, in HD-3D, man! He started dreading sleep, be in pure terror of it, choosing to walk the docks to avoid dropping off at home. Alienated Téa with those disappearances, their love collapsing. He couldn't explain. Couldn't… _talk_. Sleep was the enemy. He drank loads of coffee then graduated to caffeine pills. Nothing worked. Found himself giving in to the exhaustion only to face Peter and the truth again. Over and over and over.

On one of those miserable nights at the docks, Todd had plopped himself on the ground, boots dangling above the water, and groaned a little too loudly, "No… no… I don't wanna sleep...God… please just a few more hours, just give me a few more hours." Thought he was talking to empty space and deep water. It was a moment of revelation, a sputtering out of the ugliness inside of him. As soon as those words were out, a military-looking gruff man had flopped on the ground next to him, shocking Todd, "...the hell?!"

"I am the answer to your prayers, my man. Name's Paulie Smith."

"Jesus...get the hell outta here...I don't pray. And if I did, I sure as fuck wouldn't be asking for _you_."

The guy had laughed, "Well, I ain't Jesus, but I think I have what you need."

"You don't know what I need."

"You don't wanna sleep and I got some shit to help you with that. Just..." The man stopped a moment, studied his potential client, eyeing him up and down, and then said, "For you, just twenty five bucks for a little bag of… _wakefulness_."

Todd had felt the sleep coming on, his body screaming at him to lie down. He had heard those voices from his past, knocking at him, clawing at him. He wanted control. Wanted to stay awake and rule the nighttime monsters. He battled back and forth with himself, worried about getting caught. Worried about dying. He didn't know what this stuff was that he was buying. For all he knew, it was cleanser. Comet. But Todd was sick with fear and denial so he took a leap into the dark with Paulie Smith, local low-level drug-dealer.

After some cheesy business negotiations, after some reconsideration, Todd had taken the package. Methamphetamine. Crank. Went home, mixed the powder up with some orange juice and swallowed it down. And whoa! He hit pay-dirt. He would be awake for days on end, running the newspaper to its maximum potential, pounding after Bo Buchanan for the murder of Georgie. Nightmare-free, sleep-free. Memory-free. He was on a fucking rampage and it was be-yoo-tiful.

He and Paulie developed a real routine. Todd would call him. He'd show up at their appointed spot on the docks, money and drugs would pass. Todd was happy and _awake_. Well..."happy" wasn't exactly the word. Téa sort of got in the way of his joyful tear. She had touched him, made him feel human. He had had moments of connection with her making him want to lie with her, to show her how much he loved her. _To sleep with her_. But in the end, she slipped away from him. Their engagement disintegrated beneath the weight of Georgie's body, of Peter's tortures...

...and the hostage scheme in the cabin, a crank-fueled Manning production.

Once he was out of jail, though, he got into the meth again, learned about Michelle, and finally binged until he cracked up. Entirely. In that shower. With that knife. Surrounded by voices and hallucinations, drowning in guilt and heartsickness. Days of self-injury and psychosis had preceded the ultimate answer for him: kill the beast, kill Satan, he who resides within.

Pulling himself out his warped nostalgia, Todd looked over at Paulie again, light eyes full of misery and sickness, "You gonna help me?"

"Yeah, man, better than you ever known."

Paulie grinned, teeth glinting in the moon's light, eyes shimmering with the passing street lamps.

* * *

><p>The Mole opened the door to the motel room, Todd glimpsing the worn furniture, the chipped mirror. The gold drapes. Musty. Ironically, it sort of reminded him of the Manning household decor and he shuddered. The motel was definitely on the outskirts of Llanview, definitely far away from prying eyes. The only shit out here was a mix of run-down homes and old farms and abandoned industrial complexes.<p>

"No one's gonna bug us," Paulie said softly. "Sit down, go ahead."

Todd sat on the bed, shivering in the cold. His feet were cold. He watched Paulie, watched the person about to save his life, about to rescue him from the land called "grief" that was supposedly good for him. And how was he going to do this? Todd realized he couldn't remember what Paulie was going to give him. What was that wonderful drug that was better than the garbage at the hospital?

Oh yeah. The Princess of Peace. Heroin.

_I'm yours, Your Majesty. You're my last resort, my last stop.  
><em>  
>Paulie went to the darkened kitchenette and grabbed some paper towels off a roll, trying not to look at Todd's desolate stare. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, that emptiness. He wondered if he was seeing a little of Brandy in those eyes. Who'd a'thought the massively rich newspaper mogul was nothing but a trashed whore? And where the fuck were his shoes?<p>

He shook away the thoughts and re-focused on business. Throwing away the first three sheets or so, superstition doncha know, he laid the remaining ones on the beat-up dining table, a relic really. He had a small leather bag with him which he unpacked, taking out some instruments and laying them on the paper methodically. First, a packaged syringe, then a small glass bottle of sterile water, a cotton ball to use as a filter, followed by a cap for mixing the junk up in, and...

"There she is…," Paulie murmured as he pulled out the crowning item of the night, a small crisp-papered package filled with white powder.

It took some time for Todd to process what he was looking at. The set-up. "You're gonna inject me?"

God, his voice. Nothing like before. Dude had FIRE before. He was a real bastard. Someone to admire. And now… Paulie turned, eyed Todd a moment. "You're in a bad way, man. You need to feel this shit raw. You gotta get it to the heart of you. Mainlining's the way. Anything else is gonna be short." He waited. "You still in?"

A shrug. A bare lift of his shoulder. Not even the energy for a word. Then a nod.

"Ok. Let's get this show on the road." While smoothly tapping dope into the cap, he spoke to Todd, instructing him on what to do. "Take off your sweater and tee-shirt. Tighten and un-tighten your fist. You need to pop a good vein. We'll take a traditional route and hit your arm."

Todd hesitated, not wanting to undress, not wanting to be that exposed. His cuts. His scars. Someone might hurt him. _I won't tell anyone what we do in this room._ Waves of panic rolled through him and all he could hear was his own noisy breaths. He grasped the bedspread… rubbed his feet on the floor. Pain fired up inside of him, real physical pain up through his ass into his belly. Searing hot pain. He hunched over. Groaned silently.

_I am the decider. I am. I have the final say. I can do it all. I have always known how to do it all._

Paulie looked over at the frozen customer on the bed, hunched, panting like a goddamn dog. The fuck, man? What happened to him? What happened to Todd fucking MANNING?

"Man… WHAT... you changed your mind? You better fuckin' tell me before I mix this shit up. I mean, you can snort it, even eat it, but I'm telling you, you want the hard hit. I can see that. You… are not okay."

"It's cold in here," Todd said weakly. "Don't wanna take anything off."

"You'll get over that… believe me. So… you in or what?"

"The pain will go away?"

"Yeah, man… heroin is the mama and the papa of pain relief. Dope IS pain relief."

After a moment or two, the pain subsiding somewhat...Todd licked his lips, dragged weighted eyes to the dealer. He had to do this. The drug would go in and he'd be better. No more pain. No more pain in his head, in his body… he'd have his feet in the ground. He'd be in control again because he's the one with the final say. The only one. He straightened on the bed a little… and then said, almost too low to hear, "Okay."

So he did as he was told, removing his sweater and then his tee-shirt. _I won't tell anyone what we do in this room. _He held a hand across his chest, fingers folded against his skin. The clothes lay crumpled next to him. He then examined his arm, those cuts, the scars. His few tattoos from prison. One arm still in the removable sleeve. Téa's face kept flashing before him, Starr's. Jed's. He started to panic again, his memories again pecking at him because he felt powerless, felt at the mercy of Paulie. His life was in the hands of a scum-bag, a small-time drug-dealer. All at once a flood of worries washed over him: that he could get caught by the cops and end up in jail; that he could overdose; that he could get a disease like AIDS or Hepatitis-C. He was about to say something, grabbing his sweater into his lap.

Heard a whispering in his ear.

_These are the risks of salvation. It's this or more Peter Manning come to life. Every night, every day, he will be waiting for you, presenting to you on a silver platter… every violation… every wound… all of them laid out in glorious color and… and he will be behind you, firing them right up inside of you. Raping you with the memories. That what you want… Thomas Todd Manning?_

Right. This was his decision. He was in control of his own body. Who touches it. Who looks at it. What goes into it. He wins. He does. He didn't want to suffer anymore. Didn't want to go through the emotions anymore. And nobody seemed to understand. Talk it out, they said. Share your feelings, feel your feelings. Write it out. Paint it out. Fucking bleed it out. It all just hurt so much.

_Let me be dead, let me be happy. Take away this pain. At my say._

The next moment, Paulie sat on the bed. He reached for Todd's arm and Todd jumped hard, jerking away. _No touching, no touching_... he was breathless with fear.

Paulie froze. "Oh jesus CHRIST... look, I can take you back. You're obviously-"

"No, no... I-I-I gotta thing about people touching me…"

"Well… unless you know how-"

"I'm sorry," Todd whispered. "Just do it." He put his arm out. Palm up. Laid his arm into Paulie's waiting hands. The cuts were ugly. Raw and red. His heart was still racing.

"Just relax…" Paulie swallowed, beyond words. He carefully took the arm onto his lap and wrapped a piece of latex around Todd's bicep, tightening it into a loop and snapping it against his skin. Todd jumped. The dealer smiled shortly, apologized, and tapped at a vein in the crook of his arm.

"Okay, yeah. This is good. We got a good one here. See? But remember, it's not a good idea to just hit here... you should move around. You can do your other arm, your legs, feet. In between your toes, the jugular. Hell, even your dick. Gotta switch it up 'cause over time, if you bang often enough in the same places, you'll lose those veins… it'll get harder and harder to find a good line in. Just a fact."

Todd looked down, disconnecting fast. This was happening to someone else. This was some other idiot junky getting a lesson on how to inject himself safely. He was beginning to drift. Beginning to lose connection. He was trembling.

_Dare to say, "no". Say "no". Take Tim's hand. Go back inside with him. It's so cold._

No, he wouldn't say no. He wanted to get to Heaven, he wanted peacefulness. Just tonight. He'd go back to the doc and try again later. So nothing came out of his mouth, no objection, no last-minute reprieve. No pardon. He heard Paulie say, "Now you might get sick, throw up, but you won't care. You're gonna be feeling so fucking good, even puking'll be a dream."

Todd swallowed hard and looked into Paulie's face as he felt a pinch. He looked down at the syringe and saw a little blossom of blood at the entrance of the barrel. The shaking of his body had intensified with each passing second. He didn't really want this, maybe, but nothing was stopping the hurt, it just kept coming. Loud and aching and ugly. Pain stabbed at his insides. He grunted… said, "I don't feel anything. Pain is still here..."

"It's not in yet. When you see the blood, it means you hit a vein which is good, but don't push it all the way in yet. You should always take a taste of what you've got just to be sure the shit is good and ain't cut with crap. I'm gonna push it just a bit..."

Todd watched the plunger go down just a little, biting down on his teeth. He looked at Paulie, looked around the room. The needle deep into his vein. He grabbed the bedspread with his other hand. Rubbed his foot on the carpet.

"If you start to feel like you can't breathe, or feel really sick, you pull the spike out. Got that? It isn't supposed to feel bad. So, you gotta tell me if something ain't right. I don't want you dying on me from rat poison."

Todd stopped breathing, looking up suddenly.

"That's not gonna happen, Manning. Just tell me if you feel bad." While talking, since the start, Paulie had noticed the cuts on Todd's forearm. They were bad. Shit, he said to himself, glancing at Todd's other arm, seeing a wrap. Had to be even worse than the exposed arm. The man had meant business by doing that. Papers weren't wrong. He had meant to kill himself. Damn straight. Had to admire a dude willing to do that to himself. Takes some kinda balls... or madness.

"Ok, so far, so good. No bad feelings?"

Todd shook his head, no, eyelids dipping a little, feeling a gentle warmness running through him. He breathed, sighed...

"Now… as soon as it's good, push it in fast… don't want the blood coagulating… might blow a vein if you force it." He glanced up, "All right then… welcome to Heaven, Mr. Manning."

Todd watched Paulie untie the piece of latex, watched it fall to the bed as if watching a slow-motion film. He saw the plunger go down slowly. The room took on static, white noise. The dustiness, the darkness, all blended, the foreground melting into the background. He heard the last cries of Peter in his head, the last "flip-flop" of his mother's abandoning steps, Téa's last tears., Starr's tears… Jedediah's look of disappointment. Heard the last of his own constant internal scream intermingled with those of his victims.

Suddenly, it happened.

_Oh God._

A blinding, deafening, white blast of _silence_ shot through him. A complete and utter shut-down of all the noises he heard, of all the voices. A nuclear, atomic bomb, a massive explosion of _quiet_, so fast, so hot, he felt like he was dying. Like he was coming harder than he ever had in his life. Like he was on the biggest roller coaster ever, a stretched-out drop with no end, no beginning, all in his head. He moaned at the sensation, at the powerful rush...

Paulie had pulled the needle out and pressed down on the leaking vein with a cotton ball. Studied the reaction of Todd, his head forward like a puppet. Listened to him enjoy that brand-new orgasmic high.

"You got it," the dealer murmured. "Fuck, yeah."

Todd lifted his head, his eyes rolling back, falling backwards onto the bed, his muscles tightening as he rubbed his foot against the mattress. His body arched with obvious pleasure. It was... powerful. He moaned softly again and touched his face, his mouth, pressing his lips beneath his fingers. Pushed them in…

_Fucking hell...fucking hell... I am free. I am flying. I am the Red Baron..._

Paulie watched his client find a piece of Heaven and even envied where he was for a moment. He knew that glorious sensation, but also knew its drawbacks. Knew the trap of heroin addiction. Understood that over the next couple of weeks, Todd would want more than just a part of one bag. In a couple months, he might need several a day just to feel normal. Just to get out of bed. He might become a slave to "H" as opposed to his real life. He might die. That was the problem with heroin. Death. If you couldn't maintain, that is.

But Paulie was only the Priest marrying his client to the Princess. He didn't dare touch the stuff himself anymore lest his business fall to the wayside. He sat on the bed next to Todd and touched his head, caressing his long hair. For some reason, seeing a person in this state…man, it turned him on. Maybe it was the power, the profound vulnerability …knowing he was the one responsible for this ultimate come. Maybe he wanted to touch him because he knew his client was freaked out about being touched and here he was… so… _touchable_.

"That's better, huh, guy? Nothin' hurts, eh? Told you this was gonna help you."

Todd then made a strange expression and Paulie quickly grabbed him by the arm, dragging him off the bed, sort of throwing him into the bathroom where he fell. Just as he landed on hands, legs out, twisting on his side, his whole body stiffened and he threw-up hard onto the floor, his muscles straining through violent spasms.

Todd had a vague sensation that his whole life had come pouring out of him, firing onto the speckled tiles. Except as he did it, he didn't care. In fact, it was just like Paulie said, it felt kind of good. Getting rid of the shit in his system, in his head. The mind rot. When the spasms finally stopped, he carelessly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turned around and curled up on the floor. Next to the vomit. He just didn't care.

Hearing Todd's heaving stop, Paulie headed to the bathroom. Shook his head as he looked at the bile-infused mess. He rolled his eyes, wishing he had better directed Todd to the tub or something, though truth was, there wasn't much. Poor guy obviously hadn't been eating. He then got down and pulled Manning up, half-carrying, half-dragging him to the bed, where he carefully set him on the mattress. Felt the fragile nature of the man. He wasn't the same anymore.

After making sure Todd was on his left side just in case he puked again, Paulie went about re-packing his works back into their little bag. As he did so, he saw that Todd was fully engulfed in that second celestial phase of slamming heroin commonly known as "nodding". Slack jaw, glassy eyes barely open, and body in a state of complete relaxation. No question… Manning had seriously checked out.

_Beautiful fuckin' shit._

An incredible, slow, breathtaking wave ran through Todd, starting in the middle of his brain and rolling downwards. A high unlike anything he'd ever felt. No meth binge, no alcoholic buzz, nothing…nothing was like this. No fuck was like this. No food, no hug, no kiss. Nothing. It was warm and blissful, making him think he was in his mother's arms again. Rocked and sung to. Peace and silence. It was Godly. The spirit times a hundred, a thousand. Todd turned to his savior, barely able to open his eyes. Grabbed Paulie's arm and held it.

"I been waiting," he murmured, breathing the words. "I thought you were there. It's been so hard… I love you."

Paulie didn't know who Todd saw and didn't care as long as he was happy. He smirked, "I love you, too, man…" He bent down and ran a hand across his chest and belly. Touching the untouchable. Tweaked his nipple. Groped his crotch, feeling his dick through his jeans… "Whoa… bet the ladies love YOU." Did it just 'cause he _could_. Crazy that Manning didn't fight that. 'Course he didn't. He was high as a fuckin' kite. As high as a man can get before passing out. The Mole laughed, got up, and eased his arm out of Manning's hold.

"Good thing I ain't a fag because…fuck…you are easy."

He laughed some more…in truth, really glad his friend found some peace. He didn't think he'd ever seen such sadness in one person in his whole fucking life as he did tonight.

"You got some big-ass demons in you. Glad they're quiet, man."

Todd wasn't sure where he was anymore. He was dreaming one moment and then not. In and out of the most wonderful sleep he'd ever had, seeing momentary glimpses of his life as it should have been. Like what he wanted as a child. Heard conversations that never happened. Saw parents he never had. A little boy's dreams. He felt God's love all around him. Blanketed in utter and complete rapture. Time just rippled past, water in a brook.

_"It's all right, Todd. You are my son. I will never turn my back on you. Ever. No matter what happens, I love you. I will never hurt you."_

Todd saw Paulie cleaning up something in the bathroom. Watched his careful movements; stepping over the tiles. The water was running.

_"Yes, honey, I know all about your wonderful accomplishments today! Stop jumping! You're so silly! I love you. Now, go get ready for Daddy, we're going to his office - he said he forgot something. We'll make it a family trip!"_

He saw the bathroom door swing back against the wall and heard a phone ringing.

_"Todd, my whole office is buzzing about your football game last weekend - you know I love to talk about it. They tease me there that no other dad is as proud of their son as me. Well, I can't help it."_

Paulie was standing next to the bed, talking on the phone. Serious expression on his face, looking down at Todd. Todd knew him but didn't. He was all people in one. He was the bringer of peace, the bringer of quiet, the reliever of pain. Todd wanted to hold him, love him. Didn't matter what or who he was. Nothing mattered. God is all things. The spirit is God. She is all things good and wonderful. He held the bringer's wrist. Pulled at it to get him closer.

_"Sweetheart, I decided I couldn't stay away. I could never leave you. Besides, your father and me love each other. We may get angry sometimes, but we would never break up the family. We would always do what we could to be together. I love you."_

The wrist disappeared from his grip. Todd couldn't seem to open his eyes enough to see Paulie anymore. It was alright. He didn't care. This is what he wanted. Anesthesia. Chemical bliss.

_I love you. Love. Oh my God. God.  
><em>  
>Todd touched the pillow in front of him, sort of sleeping, sort of dreaming, sort of awake. Snippets of his fantasy life kept playing out in front of him. Aging, advancing. He heard his victims talking to him. Happy to see him because he had never hurt them. He'd never violated them. He knew it wasn't real, but he felt like he had their forgiveness. And he felt an overwhelming urge to forgive everyone for anything they ever did to him. Or maybe it was that in heaven, that shit just didn't matter anymore.<p>

At the end of the string of dreams, he saw Téa. Felt her kisses, her love. How could he have missed all of that? How could he have not felt what she was offering? The first thing he was going to do was call her, get her to come to him. He would love her endlessly, make her feel good. As good as he felt. Touch her, make love, _talk,_ if that's what she wanted. This was one dream he could make happen.

And if she no longer wanted him?

Well, so be it. He had heroin now. The Princess of Peace, the Savior of the Downtrodden, the Great Healer. All was good, all was quiet...

_All was... fucking... fantastic._

**To be continued….**


	5. Chapter 5

**On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2**

**Chapter 5**

Prophecy. Murphy's law. Fate. All played a role in Todd's leaving the hospital before he was well. The doctor knew drug abuse lurked in the background of his patient's complicated psychic tapestry. So he addressed it, de-mystified it, offered options. But the foreground took urgent priority: the flashbacks, the nightmares, the catatonic episodes, the gut-wrenching depression. Have patience, the doctor had told him. _Give us time._

_I gave you time. I don't want to remember this shit anymore._

In the dark of his office, Tim easily called up Todd in his mind, hazel-colored eyes that softened his history-laden features, that made a person forget the violent scar on his cheek, pleading eyes focused on the doctor. Such _fragility_. Give me some good feelings, he said, take away the pain for just a little while.

The phone on his desk waited for his next move: calling Viki Carpenter to tell her he had lost her brother. He failed to find the right _balance_ to fix him. The psychiatric industry was unique because while based in science, it also called for subjective interaction, where the right focus, the right behavior of a doctor or therapist, the right environment, all could resolve a person's mental health. Journal writing, painting, mediation, sharing a personal life. Being kind, being firm. Being patient, being insistent. A great balancing act to lead a person to healthfulness.

"I couldn't find that balance, Todd...I'm sorry," Tim said aloud, banging the side of his closed fist against the desk a few times. He dialed Viki's telephone number and she answered and he heard her breathe out when he said he was calling about Todd. Like she knew.

"He left with someone in a dark-colored...looked like a late 70's BMW. No license plate." Tim raised his eyes and saw Shane Lansing in his doorway, a terribly welcome sight. He tried to smile at the date he was supposed to meet for a late-night dinner, but the effort faded quick.

"It was his decision to leave," Viki said. Tim had expected her to fall apart. He was surprised by her detachment.

"I tried to stop him. I was so close - he reached for me. I think it was his supplier, Paulie Smith… I'm sure that's not a traceable name. I reported him to the police, but-" Tim suddenly choked up, "I don't even know what the man looks like."

Shane stepped into the office at that and walked behind the desk, leaning down to wrap his arms around the doctor. Staying there. Tim laid a hand on Shane's. Turned just enough to see that handsome face, full of gentle understanding. He smelled like the woods, green, fresh...

Viki drew in Tim's attention. "Why don't you find out which nurses were on duty when Mr. Smith visited before? Maybe they can describe what he looked like. Maybe his entrance was even filmed by a security camera?"

"Yeah...I'll check on that," Tim said. "They were headed west… north exit. He left with just the clothes on his back. Didn't have shoes, socks only. I'm so sorry." He felt a warm kiss on his cheek… a squeezing of strong arms around him, a simple act.

"It's not your fault," Viki said. "You've done everything you can for him. I have so appreciated your hard work, your valuable time. Like you said, it all comes down to Todd. Leaving was his decision."

"Of course. I'll call you if I hear anything and certainly, you know my cell number… if he contacts you. I'll call his wife-"

"No, let me do it. Thank you again, Tim."

He hung up and Shane let him go, turning and half-sitting on the desk. Eyed Tim, features gentled. "What happened?"

"Patient left. I must have missed something. I didn't address his problem with drugs enough. I wasn't meeting his needs enough. Nobody was meeting them. He's so closed up - so depressed - he didn't trust me enough-"

"Hey… why are you personalizing this?"

The picture of Jonathan blurred… Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, pinching off unhelpful emotion. God, this hurt. As he took a deep breath, he felt a kind hand resting on his shoulder.

"Graham…?"

The admission was harder than he thought, the feelings deeper, more intense than usual. A weakness he supposed. A tear in his calm. "My ex… my first… he died on the streets. I wasn't able to help him. When I lose patients, I don't handle it well."

"Ah." Shane smiled, disarming. Letting the fellow doctor just be. Tender awareness warmed his voice. "This is your seductor who left, the one who tested your trustworthiness. And he reminds you of… your first great love."

Tim reached for Shane, the heaviness in his heart showing in a sigh. "Yet they're nothing alike other than being sick, being victimized by something out of their control. And he's run off in much the same way and I'm afraid he's suicidal. Deep, black depression. I called the police… we'll see if they can wrangle him back."

They were quiet a few moments. The hospital outside the door moving along like nothing happened. Same as ever.

"Your patient was fairly forthcoming as far as surface motivations go. He told you exactly why he was attempting to seduce you… why'd he leave?"

"You're quite astute."

"I've been told."

"He said he wanted pain relief - physical, emotional. Left with his drug dealer. It's suicide."

Shane crossed his arms, taking on his doctorly pose. "Opiates are for pain. Drug dealer means _illegal _opiates… so chances are heroin. That's a great way to go. I tried it once in med school. A science experiment. It's delicious."

Tim shook his head, "Where'd you go to med school again?"

"In the Caribbean."

"Figures," Tim smiled, a smile he didn't think he'd be capable of under these circumstances. He then grew thoughtful. Reflected on every suicide he'd handled over the years. Blades, gunshots, drownings, jumps… and yes, overdoses. But… most _heroin_ overdoses were accidental. Actually, he couldn't think of a single suicide by heroin. The high was worth living for. He studied Shane, eyes roving his beautiful self as he waited so patiently against the desk, ankles crossed… brown-black hair… green eyes… slacks fitting so fine beneath his tweed blazer. An antithesis to Tim's hippy California style.

"My patient landed a spot on my rounds by cutting himself up. Painful. Violent. Determined to die." He paused. Thinking. Eyes on papers strewn across his desk. "If he really wanted to end things he'd have gone to the roof. Might have even thrown himself in the way of a truck… right on this boulevard. He looked both ways before crossing the street."

Shane grinned, "Looked before crossing… wanting to get high… I'd say your seductor wants to live, Graham. That's pretty hopeful, don't you think? The opposite of suicide?"

"You ought to think about switching to psych."

"No thank you, my friend. I prefer my patients to be in and _out _of my office. Stitch and run."

A frown pulled at Tim's mouth. "Now we just have to worry about him accidentally dying."

"Gah! Ever the optimist!" Shane took Tim's hand… "Come sweetheart, let's get a bottle of wine and go to my place. We can wait for the cops to call there since it's nearby. You can tell me more about sweet Jonathan. Let's see if we can get you to separate him from your patient a little…"

* * *

><p>"Todd has chosen to leave the hospital, Téa. Dr. Graham believes he left with his… drug dealer."<p>

"Oh… oh no." Viki's voice was calm on the phone as she began to share details on what happened and Téa tried to emulate that. Her heart had jumped into her throat though. Her mouth had dropped open in shock. Fear tore through her.

_In front of the hospital… no shoes… drove away in an old black BMW..._

She breathed to calm herself, still hearing his words about the dead boy at his feet…

_He's here with me. It's so gross – maggots and worms have bloated him. He's rotting. I don't like being with it – it suffocates me. _

He was that boy. A boy who had been raped as he himself had admitted to her. On her own, she had wondered if the rape was the only incident of sexual abuse. Experience with clients who'd suffered similar fates... being a naturally analytical person… her research in recent weeks… logic... Todd's aversions to all intimacy... told her a definitive NO. Peter Manning had abused Todd beyond the one rape at age fourteen. Perhaps… Peter had begun the torment when Todd was very young, which is why the rotting boy Todd saw at his feet seemed so very _young._ He agreed unwittingly that he'd been "just a baby," when Peter had wounded him. Not the phrasing one would use if describing a teenager. Perhaps a more protracted history of sexual abuse was why Todd was so very sick. Of course, she knew nothing for sure. The doctor and Viki were quite protective. Keeping his secrets.

_Hold me tighter. Like that, just like that._

"Kevin'll be at the hospital first thing," Viki went on. "They're going to try to figure who this man is that Todd left with. But maybe you know?"

Shaken, Tea tried to concentrate on Viki's voice. She rasped, "Um… know what?"

"Who Todd's supplier is? He was on that… methamphetamine a while. Did you ever hear a name or see… anything? He goes by Paulie Smith or at least he registered that way at the hospital."

"No...no… never… I had no idea he was doing anything like that at the time… I completely missed it. I was so stupid. His behavior was so… _obvious_. He was… _tweaking." _Terminology she knew. From her work. Viki would have no idea what that meant. _Tweaking_ according to the Urban Dictionary: being high on meth or crank; frantic or compulsive behaviour associated with methamphetamine use. He was most definitely tweaking during that ridiculous hostage situation at the cabin. When he punched her.

"Shhh, Téa… we all missed it. It's not stupidity… it's choosing not to see someone you love killing themselves." Her voice caught. A break in her calm, a splash of mud on her ever-professional deportment. "I wonder where he would go?"

Viki sounded so unlike herself, so sad. Tea put her hand in her hip, eyes on the large windows of the Penthouse. She was standing in the middle of his darkened living room. She'd come here... just to... what? Precognition. Eyes on the door. "If he's determined to be independent of the hospital… he'll come home. _Here…to the Penthouse. _Might be our best shot at confronting him."

"I should come, then."

"No. Too much like the intervention. If he shows up... one of us will be enough. More will upset him."

_Delgado, I want to go home ... please let me come home ..._

_I'll wait for you, I'll be here for you ..._

* * *

><p>Jed was about to storm into Kevin's bedroom so he could really push him into going to West V. despite the Phillip Manning threat. He stopped short at the door when he heard Kevin mention Todd.<p>

Kevin was hunched over on the side of the bed tying his shoelaces as he cursed, "Why'd I have to find him that night, Cass? It's like punishment or something...I can't shake him...can't get rid of him."

"You know," she answered, touching his back, looking at him compassionately. "It's interesting he chose you to do the story on Michelle...to find him. I'm torn between the reason being that he hated you, or that in some way, he trusted you."

Kevin sat up and looked Cassie, "Trusting me?"

"Yes. He trusted you to clean up the mess, so to speak. To do right by him and Michelle. To tell the truth."

"You mean by having the Banner over the Sun do the story."

"Sure... that and everything else. Todd could've called Sam, but he didn't. He didn't... trust him. He could have called Viki, Blair even. Granted, he probably was protecting them, didn't want them to get a shock. It was like he knew you would be up to it. That...you would..see it all through. He trusted you."

"I don't know... what with Marty and all..."

"You're talking about him resenting you for not lying at the trial."

"Yeah, old wounds."

"But that's what I mean. You told the truth when he couldn't. You stood up to him without fear. He went after everyone else...Nora, Marty, Luna...all based on betrayal and yet he left you alone. It was as if... he respected you on some level. He... _trusted_ you."

"You're giving me way too much credit... he hates my guts and I'm sure he _really_ does now, considering I have Jed here. I'm betraying him by taking his property. You know how he is..."

Jedediah stopped breathing a moment, waiting to hear what Cassie would say. Property? Todd thinks his children are... property?

"I think it's quite the opposite. He's taken off with his pusher to God knows where... in search of who knows what... because he knows Jed is safe. Because he knows you will take care of his son."

Jedediah was confused for a moment. Todd had taken off? Again? No.

"I guess so," Kevin griped. "I mean, assuming he has real paternal feelings to him. That he really cares about-"

"You don't think he cares about me?" Jedediah stood now in the doorway, his voice full of stress and hurt the weeks had brought him.

Kevin closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. He forgot he and Cassie weren't alone anymore. "Oh Jed, I didn't..."

"You been telling me he cares... that he feels something... that he might even love me... and now..."

"That's not what I meant!"

"You talk about him hating you...but the truth is, YOU hate him. Why don't you just admit that?"

Cassie got up off the bed and went to Jedediah, reaching out to touch him, "Sweetie..."

"Don't 'sweetie' me! All of you hate him... no wonder he doesn't wanna stick around to get better! Why would he?! You know what, I'm outta here, too. Fuck all of you."

Kevin got up quickly, yelling as the kid stormed down the hall, "Jed! Come back! COME ON!"

"No... you guys don't care about him and that means you don't care about me or my mother..." Jed went down the stairs quickly. "You've been putting me off...putting West V. off ... so you can sit back and punish him. And me! He needs closure with my mom and so do I! Phillip Manning is just your latest EXCUSE!"

"No, you don't understand! Todd and I have a long history together! I told you we were frat brothers...when he got arrested for raping Marty, so did I!"

Jed stopped a moment. This was new. The two were at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah," Kevin huffed, "...Marty accused me of being in on the gang-rape along with Todd. Todd... being guilty, hung onto that. Used that. He wanted me to help him... to go along with his story. I couldn't. I was cleared and he went to prison. We've been at odds for a long time."

"Meaning everything I just said is right! You really hate him. Which means... you hate me, too. Simple math. _Adios."_ He turned, heading towards the front door again.

"No! I don't hate him anymore. I was just... being an idiot upstairs. I'm pissed that he left the hospital... I'm pissed that he can't seem to get better. Because you and Tea... Starr... all need him to be well."

Jedediah looked away, Kevin's words not filling up that persistent emptiness he felt. For all the trust Todd supposedly had in Kevin, Jedediah felt a distinct lack of it. He wanted to tell Kevin about the stranger, but found himself unable to. Kevin had a history with Todd. He couldn't possibly be all that interested in Todd's well-being. Even his taking Jed in could be interpreted as a play on Todd. A getting back at him. With a hard breath, Jedediah stormed the large living room, grabbed the door knob, and pulled the front door open.

"You can't leave, Jed! Not with that maniac out there," Kevin shouted. Cassie had since come down the stairs now and stood next to Kevin.

Jedediah turned and hissed, "Screw you." He slammed the door shut.

"God! WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE SO MUCH LIKE TODD?! Jesus!" Kevin ran outside, just in time to see Jed flip him off and take off down the driveway on his motorcycle.

* * *

><p>Cassie called the Mole and let him know that Jedediah had left, but seriously did not think he was going far. Kevin chased after him but lost him quickly. The Mole promised he would go looking for the little squirt to make sure he'd be safe. As usual. But before he buggered off, he just had to know...<p>

"Hey, gotta question… who is Phillip Manning… to Todd Manning? Same name and all… coincidence?"

Silence. She sighed noisily. "Phillip is Todd's cousin."

"Who is Jedediah to the two of them?"

"Jedediah is Todd's son by an old girlfriend who passed away a long time ago. Phillip was a rival for the girl."

A low whistle followed… "And lo the worm turns…"

He snapped his eyes at his sleeping half-naked client in the China Moon Motel. Spread out on the bedspread, he was snoring lightly, like a happy dog. A heroin sleep that would leave him feeling clean and fresh when he woke up. The best nap ever. BUT...with Manning's throwing up, no way did the Mole want to be responsible for his aspirating and dying in that wonderful sleep. Manning was too...valuable. Too good a client. Plus...he was providing a little entertainment in this whole Phillip Manning thing. Todd certainly got under the Emperor's skin. The Mole always did like a good soap opera. And babysitting the kid was intensely boring and tested the limit of his fuckin' charity but he had to keep the kid safe and that meant leaving.

So he called his favorite whore, Brandy.

He smiled when he saw her at the door, all dolled up like she always got. "Now, like I said, you treat him right, babe. Make sure he's on his left side in case he starts to puke. But if he wakes up and wants more dope, go ahead and give it to him. No more than half a bag. Less is better but should be ok." Dropped his voice. "And do your _thing_… if he wants it. In fact… do everything you can to get him off. He ain't been laid in months. If something goes wrong… call _me_."

"Sure thing, Mo'." She got on her toes and kissed the Mole's nose. He patted her on the ass and closed the door behind him. Brandy shrugged her shoulders, hugging herself, and eyed the sleeping man. He didn't stir at all. She thought he looked familiar but didn't trust her impression. She didn't know nothin' about nothin'.

Put her little package of food on the table and made herself comfortable. Could be a long while she was going to be around.

* * *

><p>Someone hummed a song from when Todd was a kid. Her voice was so sweet, he nuzzled even further into the warmth. He could tell he was smiling and put fingers to his lips, a tongue to his fingertips. When was the last time he felt like this? Oh yeah, <em>never<em>. Even the memories of his mother, of her loving him, were tainted because Peter ripped him right out from her affections so many times. Rough violent separation. That wasn't going to happen this time. The heroin would just wear off. He would just ease out of the warmth.

At which point he fully intended to shoot up again so he could come back here, to this place. Wherever it was. Technically, he didn't really know nor did he care. It just felt so good, so damn good.

After a long while, more consciousness came and he ventured a sneak peak at his surroundings. He was in the motel room, the same one from earlier. _The China Moon. _Dug his way to China, after all. He was on his side, tucked into the bed, under the sheets. Right at the edge of the bed. He could see a trash can. All the cold from earlier was gone. He was quiet inside of himself. The storminess reduced to a breeze, the voices and pictures broken, static-y, like a failed TV signal.

He had no pain.

A woman sat at the table. She was pushing around a plastic fork on a paper plate of white rice, it looked like. She had a youngish face, but her skin was not young. She looked old, beaten. Todd soon realized it was because she was sporting the remnants of a bruised cheek. She had long dark hair and was wearing a clingy, well-used, red silk dress. Had high heels on. He watched her a while, unblinkingly, watched her like she was a hallucination. He knew she was real though. He couldn't make something up like her. The careful way she lifted the fork to her mouth, afraid to spill a single grain. The way she licked her too-red lips. The way she flipped through the muted television stations as she pointed the remote control at it. Clicking away absently. Staring like he did. She licked the fork even though nothing was on it.

He must have moved or made a noise because she put the control down and turned to him, smiling slightly and cooing, "Hi." Her voice sort of drifted over to him and it was like hot chocolate ... yeah ... thick, creamy hot chocolate. His eyes dropped closed again, a little beyond his control, but he forced them open.

"My name's Brandy, baby. Mo' left me here to care for ya'. Make sure you don't puke on yourself. You been a little...erpy."

He must have said something or made a face because she then said, "Yeah...you been tossin' your cookies."

The trash can. Must have puked into it. She must have washed it out.

She laughed. Lightly, a twitter. Like a bird. He closed his eyes, lost a second or two in the sense of spring, twitters of birds outside, a sun outside. He came awake again. No, no, it was still night. Still winter or fall or something cold. Tossing his cookies. He scratched his belly. He had a vague recollection of being pulled so he'd vomit into the trash can. Faraway. Far, far, far away.

"Smack does that to some..."

With a gleeful look, she got up and all of a sudden pulled off her dress and kicked off her shoes, revealing a skinny, completely bare body. She climbed into the bed behind Todd, getting under the covers with him. He just lay there, too disconnected and dreamy to fight her. She was lying on her side like he was only she had propped herself up on an elbow, peeking over him, at him.

"You real quiet," she said.

He got it into his head to move. Her skin was hot. Like fever hot. Like the hot of fireplaces. He inched away but was already close to falling so he rolled over onto his back and that made her shift a little. He looked at her quizzically. It took a moment or two or ten to finally choke out, "What are you doing?"

"You don't wanna fuck, baby?"

He blinked a couple of times. Processing was slow in this post-heroin world.

"What?"

"Mo' told me that I'm s'posed to do whatever you want." She got sort of shy, lowering her eyes, and then whispered, "I'm real 'sperienced. You can do whatever you like to me. Mo' don't like when I say this but if you wanna get rough, that's ok." She laughed. "Though you soft as a kitty cat now."

Todd closed his eyes, wishing he was asleep again. He didn't understand what she was saying. Something about liking it rough. Confused him. They forgave him, right? All his victims, right? He never did that, right? Getting turned on by...

A low wave rolled through him. The edges of a film strip caught in a projector. Light burning the center of it. Melting from the center out. He knew his breath had sped up. What did she say?

_Shhhhhh_...

Things quieted again. He watched the TV a while, soon realizing she was the source of the noise. She was talking, the TV still mute, soft bird-like chatter. He tried to make the words out. He watched her lips. Red lips. Remnants of lipstick. Now, now... he heard her talking about how nice his chest was, how handsome he was, that he didn't have to be shy, and so on.

All in one swoop, she got on top of him, straddling him, pressing her hips down on him, and she bent down and tried to kiss him, except he turned his head. Hands up, cringing, not touching her but feeling her.

"G-get off...off of me," he grunted. "Don't... don't touch me..." Tried to get away but he couldn't move, too close to the edge, too weak, too dreamy still.

As if she didn't hear him, as if driven, she lifted up and reached down in between her legs and started touching him. He stopped breathing. Stopped stopped stopped breathing through his shocked-open mouth and he was nine, he was eight, he was seven...

"Don't don't don't..."

_What did I do wrong? What's the lesson for?_

The mattress squeaked as her knees pressed down. He got he was naked, got she couldn't understand him, got that he was powerless and frozen and heroin had shut him down. The drug was bad, wrong, it was all wrong. He breathed again. Eyes stinging. Followed her breaths as she rocked on his hips. His arms fell slack to his side like spaghetti. She was stroking him. He wanted to fight the touching. He didn't give her permission. But something said to stay still or it could get worse... oh so much _worse_.

She was wide open, her mouth, everything. Not Peter. Not Peter. Or was it? He felt something now, knowing he was reacting to her, and he grunted softly. She made exaggerated sexual expressions. An ooooo... ooooo...

"Don't that feel good?"

"No, no, no..." He pushed against the mattress, hands pressed down. Feet pressing down. It was hot, so hot, she was fever hot and he was nine, he was eight, he was seven... He pitched his head back, fists at his side because he wasn't allowed to fight. Wasn't allowed to scream.

"Please don't do that... I...really can't do that..."

She intensified her hand strokes in combination with her hip motion, and he heard himself make noise, maybe groan, maybe moan... and he could feel he was responding strongly beneath her flying fingers, the reaction a body can't help even if someone is abusing that body, Tim had said that, promised that, it didn't mean he wanted it – he had swelled and she was noisy with her movements. Flesh and wetness.

"Oh yeah," she purred, "you like this a whole lot don't you? Oh yeah. I'm here to make you feel real good... that's Brandy's job, jus' for you, baby. Mo' told me to do everything I can for you and I ain't letting him down, am I?"

She kept up her rocking movements. Kept sliding fingers. Just the same. Just the same.

"Damn, you is beautiful and big. Oh god…don't that feel good? You got me all wet, too… you wanna fuck now, baby? Or you just want a hand job? What you want? Huh, baby? I'll do anything…"

Todd whimpered and rolled his eyes back at the feeling in his body, at her dirty talking, because it did feel good, real good, and the quiet lapped at his skull, but it was wavering, splashing up the sides, up and around his brain, making way for the other noise, for the dark voice, no, no, no, please no, please no, but it was too late.

_Time to pay now. Time to learn your lesson... Don't move! Lie still... you bite me and I will fucking kill you... yeah... yeah... like that... like that..._

He froze at the combined sound of Peter's voice and his own, frozen at seeing the pictures again, and hot tears ran down his face even as he jerked his hips. His dreams had come alive and he was going to react to them and he didn't want to. He so didn't want to.

"P-please...j-just...s-stop," he whispered.

She was moving slightly faster and he groaned again, sure it was him who did that and not Peter. And he was getting to a point where his body had more say than his mind did. Suddenly, to his relief, she did stop and he took a deep breath. And he wiped his face roughly and pushed at the mattress to get away, to crawl away, to find his blue pajamas and cradle his wounded flesh...

But then he heard her spit and she started up again, the silkiness of her saliva only serving to intensify the feelings. "Oh god...," he moaned, his breathing speeding up and becoming ragged, all beyond him.

Brandy was panting as she continued to rub him from her hovering position, "You sure can do this... why you say you can't? God... I'm just gonna keep on so we don't got to interrupt nothin'…you going so good…okay? You want more, you let me know, baby. When you want, I'll fuck you, I'll fuck you real good… come on baby, I wanna see you finish..."

Todd grabbed the sheet in one of his hands, squeezing the cloth tightly, his feet smashing down. He couldn't move, frozen in place by Peter's command, the lesson had to be learned, had to be felt, had to hurt. Had to choke him into silence.

She slid down and put her mouth on him at which he bucked against her, whimpering more. He was deep inside her mouth, hot, fever hot, and it was sharp and his body wanted it and screamed for it no matter what his head said. He was older... he's older... gotta be nine, gotta be eight, gotta be seven. He writhed under her, shifting his hips, his legs, wanting to drive into her mouth. But he couldn't do that either. Her fingers found their way to his chest and she pinched his pecs, fingernails scratching skin. He thought he felt her slowing and panicked some. It hurt, God it fucking hurt for her to stop. Other words came out of his mouth now... fast breathy strangled words...

"D-don't tease me...don't tease me...you gotta finish now..."

"Sorry, baby...I sure ain't stoppin', no way. You want it faster…jus' the best part... tha's what you want…yeah…I'll do that, baby…" She hurried her movements using both her hand and her mouth and he needed it to end bad now so he grabbed her hair and pumped.

"Don't...don't...stop...God...oh God," he said, grunting.

The orgasm was finally there and his whole body jerked against her. She grabbed his hand to put it back on her head, wanting him to hold her like he was because she liked the feel of that but he wouldn't. Hands went right back to the mattress, to the sheets. He made no more noise, holding his breath through the rest of the powerful spasms that took over his body. She pulled away from him because she couldn't take that much no matter how much practice she had.

"God, baby, you needed that...that was good, you got me... I wanna feel you...I'll get it all outta you..." She straddled him again, pressing him against her, squeezing him and his skin crawled because he was sensitive. She hunched over. She rocked her head back. Her mouth open, moaned, "Oh baby, I'm done in too, you so so good. God, oh my god..." She was shaking, fast to him. Exaggerated. Something not real about it.

_All the same. All the same. Lessons gotta be learned. _

Todd turned away, breathing again. Noise deafening. His need for the silence... loud again, killing him. Needed the bad wrong drug. Everything would go away. Everything would make sense.

She collapsed on him, gently stroking his side, holding him. "Oh my, oh baby. You real good." She lay a moment or two. "Still don't know why you say you can't do this. Mo's gonna be real happy you got something good. He said you really needed that. And you so good, you got me going. That don't happen often."

She sat up, massaging the wetness into his skin. He covered his eyes, hiding from her, from him, hiding in the black. Smelling sweat and sex and a woman. Sheets tight now in his fists. She then carefully got up, going to the bathroom.

Todd lay still, recovering, while sounds tormented him. While images continued to play out in front of him. He tried to make them go away, pulling the sheet up around him. He curled onto his side. Back to the bathroom. Cupped himself. No more takings. No more lessons.

_Flip-flop. Don't leave me here. He's only going to come back for more. Take me with you. Please..._

She hopped back on the bed, "Pretty good, huh?" He was still breathing hard. Staring into the sheets. She was facing him. Got into his line of vision. "You okay?" she asked. "Why you holding your junk like that? Ohhh it tickles huh?"

He should have fought her. Had to be the heroin that turned things around. Nobody could touch him at the hospital without him going crazy. She had no idea how lucky she was. The heroin had to be the reason she did what she did without him getting blindingly violent. Never never never could this have happened. Tim flashed into his head. A warning.

_Nothing your dealer will give you will be good for you. _

He shut it down. No, he needed the silence. This was a fluke, a misunderstanding. He'll just explain...

"Don't ever do that again," he finally said. "P-please ..." He looked at Brandy and saw how hurt she was.

"You a man, ain't ya?" she asked. "All men want that."

"No... not all men. What's wrong with you that you say that?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong. This is what I do...I'm a pro. Been doin' it since I was 13," she said proudly, covering up her injured feelings. "On my own - I ain't never had no pimp."

"Oh God," he said softly.

"I ain't 13 no more if that's what you're thinkin'! I'm 24."

He bit down and looked away from her because he could see her whole life in those hurt eyes of hers. "It's not you," he said. "It's me. I gotta thing. Just... don't. It's not safe for you."

She grew serious for once, looking at him close. She looked right into his eyes that kept shifting away from her, at the lines on his forehead. Looked at how he had his knees up, curled like a baby, holding his parts.

"Oh," she said.

And with just that, they seemed to know each other's history without saying anything. They were a brother and a sister from Hell. Whores. Abandoned, broken whores.

It had been hours since he had first shot up and although he felt good in his body and still warm, his brain was another thing. Peter has just been all over him again. Making him do things. He wanted to go back to his mother's arms. He wanted that nod. He wanted it bad because the memories had snuck back. And they stung. Not like before. Oh no...nothing like before, but just enough to remind him of the truth about his life.

"When's Paulie coming back?" Todd asked.

"Paulie? You mean Mo'?"

"Who the hell is Mo'?"

"He's my man. My favorite customer. He calls himself a mole 'cause he works at night and he know the city so well he like a mole. Can get around blind. Ain't that funny? He so funny. Always makes me laugh. Goes by Paulie to you probably." She dropped her voice to a whisper, "I think he wanna marry me."

Todd sighed. The fear and panic had lessened to unruffling white noise. But he didn't want _reduction. _He needed another hit. He wanted the roller coaster quiet, the atomic bomb of silence. When he sat up, he groaned from muscular pain in his abdomen, hunching over.

"Oh that's from throwin' up, I bet. I always heard that your body hates 'h,' but your mind loves it."

He breathed in and looked around, sniffling, wondering what time it was. Wondered how Tim was doing. Viki for sure would know he was gone by now. He shoved away his thoughts, stuffed them back under their rock.

_I won't tell anyone what we do in this room._

"You want some more, baby?" Brandy asked sexily. "I know how to do it, lots of guys want me to do it for them. I just' never use 'cause Mo' says it's bad for me. 'Sides...the workers who on...they hurt real bad. They do most anything for money but all their hard work goes right into their veins. But you don't got to worry 'bout that cause you have money. Least tha's what Mo' says."

Todd leaned back again, struck by where he was, who he was talking to, what she had just done to him. Tea. Starr. Jed. Viki. Like spiders or snails, they were inching their way out from under the rocks. God, he needed another shot. He didn't want to think about these things. No ... no ... Tim had tried so hard to stop him from leaving, trying to save him. He didn't understand that Todd was going to be saved. Saved by heroin, by the Princess.

_Give me heaven again. Oh let me be there again. I want to stay there. I want to stay forever. There...  
><em>  
>The next thing he knew, Brandy had everything laid out in front of him on the bed, "Here, baby. You want me to do it? Or you wanna learn?"<p>

Todd stared at everything, a tad sick at the sight. Sometimes, though, you have to go through fire to get to Heaven. To get to paradise.

"I'll do it," he mumbled. He looked at Brandy, at his fellow nothing, and she smiled at him. He picked up the latex cord and tied it around his left arm the way Paulie had shown him. Tied it so he could rip it off easily with just one tug. Brandy adjusted it. Then she stopped, her fingers hovering above his scars. Eyes seeing the wrap on his other arm. She smiled, her own dark full eyes on his. Got back to business. Mixed a packet of heroin with some water in the cap. Sucked it into the syringe through the filter and handed it to Todd. He looked at her, "How much is this?"

"Half a bag... Mo' said that should be okay."

He was doing it again. Handing over his life to someone else. Risking his life with people he didn't know. Comet. Cleanser. Yeah...that's what heroin is. Cleanser - cleans out your system leaving only the good stuff. Todd looked down at his arm and picked out a thick looking blue vein. Same as before. He lay the syringe flat onto his skin. He was paralyzed for a moment with total fear, breaking out into a sweat. God, he hated needles. Always did. Gotta go through fire...yeah, yeah, yeah...whatever.

Funny, how he could slice up his arm but broke into a sweat at the sight of a spike.

He took a couple of deep breaths and stuck the needle in, into what he thought was the vein. He pulled back on the plunger and nothing happened. No blood. Shit. He pulled it out and pushed down a little thinking there was air inside the barrel. Air. Oh God. An air bubble could get in and kill him. Oh God. He dropped some of the liquid onto the sheet. He tried again only this time he was so nervous, he sent the needle right through the vein. "Shit!" He hated this.

"You gotta get another line, baby. The dope'll leak right through if you try for the same place. Lemme do it for ya..."

"No...I gotta know how...damn it," he said, frustrated. He looked for another spot and quickly found one. He stuck in the needle, jacked back the plunger and there was blood. He breathed out and Brandy took the cord off. He pushed down partway and felt the warmth after a bit. Then, he eased the plunger all the way down. He pulled the needle out and it fell onto the bed, his finger holding the spot where he had injected himself. The rush hit him hard and he moaned, his head dropping forward. He fell to the side as the full impact of the drug pounded him with its whooshing quiet, its glorious silence of thought and memory.

Brandy lay next to him, watching his face and eyes. She stroked his hair and cooed to him. After a few moments, she helped him to the bathroom because she knew what was going to happen. Sure enough, he threw up into the toilet, violently and noisily. Hardly any liquid. All that strain and hard work for nothin' but stomach acid.

After, he sat back on the floor against the tub in pure heroin disconnect. Brandy covered him up with a blanket she took off the bed then wiped his face with a wet towel while looking into his glassy, unfocused eyes.

"Is that good?" she asked. "You look good. You look real happy." She smiled at him, but he couldn't tell that.

Todd only felt that wonderful heated rapture. He made up his mother's voice in his head and heard her laughing. The dreams of a little boy at nine, at eight, at seven.

_I'm back and I'm gonna keep coming back to you._

_I love you, my little Angel. You are the best little boy I know. _

_Really, mama?_

_Oh yes. I still have every picture you ever drew for me. I still have all the rocks you brought home from school...all your treasures._

_Am I a treasure? _

_You're the best treasure. I have a secret. You want to hear it?_

_Yeah! I don't have any more secrets. They're all gone._

_Remember that puppy you brought home? The stray you found outside school?_

_He had floppy ears and he licked my face. I liked him. But daddy told me he died._

_He didn't die...sweetie...that was just Daddy being mean. Just telling you stories. I took him to a hidden place...far away. Where he grew up safe and sound._

_You did?! Oh mama...but...why just the puppy, mama? What about me? How come you didn't send me away from Daddy?_

_I tried so hard. I died too young. Too young. I was afraid._

_But you're here now._

_Yes. I'm here now...Little One. I'm here now. Can I hold you?_

_Oh yes...yes...you hold me, you hold me close to you. I don't ever want to leave._

Brandy looked at Todd's dropped head, his hanging hair, and tucked the blanket all around him. For some reason, he looked kind of... sad. Dopers usually didn't look that way so she felt sort of sorry for him. Kept thinking of how he was holding his junk. How he said she wasn't supposed to touch him. Hadn't heard him protesting though, not one bit. But now she wondered if his little whispers had been for her to stop. She felt real bad about that. But he finished hard and a lot came out and men who do that been deprived and that ain't ever good 'cause it makes them mean if they get backed up and anyway at the end he needed her to finish. Never met a man like him. And now even a good slam of dope didn't really take away this sadness he wore.

He threw up a little more into a towel she had for him and he went back to his half-sleeping mode. His breathing was gentle and smooth. He was peaceful and based on all of his scars on his body, Brandy had a feeling this calm was kinda unusual for him. She hoped it would last a while, but she knew it wouldn't.

"I think we might have to give you more the next time around..."

_Can I stay with you, mama? I have a way to do that now. I bet you were surprised to see me._

_You have always surprised me, Angel. I love you._

_Oh...I love you, too...I do...I forgive you, for all your transgressions..._

* * *

><p>Jedediah had spent hours riding around, accomplishing nothing except to get colder. He had tried to find Todd himself, checking out alleys and streets and parks. Even gave money to the guard at the Penthouse. Guy remembered Jed. No luck. Hadn't been there. Todd was gone. So was Jed's hope for that connection he had been wanting. He soon found himself in the driveway to Viki's house. The house was lit up. It looked inviting and safe. She was always so nice to Jed. So accepting. No wonder Todd loved her. No wonder he truly trusted her.<p>

He rolled his bike down the driveway, parked it and shut off the engine. He took off his helmet and sat it on the seat. With some trepidation, he walked up to the front door. Rang the bell. Looked at the moon threatening to disappear. Wondering how in the hell his life had changed so radically.

Viki had heard the doorbell and with all her heart hoped it was Todd. She ran out of the living room and pulled open the door only to see Jedediah. Before she could even register any kind of disappointment, she realized that he was on the verge of tears. "Jedediah..." she said.

"I can't find him...I tried...and I can't..."

At that, Viki closed her eyes and pulled Jed to her tightly, feeling him weep softly into her shoulder. For all the wise-talking he did, for all the toughness he put out, for all his independence, she saw that Jed was still a boy, still a child, without parents to speak of. Without a home.

"Shh...it's okay," Viki assured him, assured herself. "We'll find him."

From across the road, the Mole flicked his cigarette out the window. "You did good, kid," he said and drove away, looking out for Phillip and seeing nothing. His radio crackled out a love song from the fifties and he shut it off. "Love only exists in your dreams, when you're...sto-oned," he sang to the melody of the ancient tune, laughing.

**To be continued…..**


End file.
